


The Consolidation Game

by starkind



Series: "That will be all, Mister Wayne." [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Deviates From Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Previously, on 'Agent-Assistant Wayne'...We've left our heroes in Tony's bed, making up instead of breaking up. Just how long will this domestic bliss last? What about Bruce's loyalties with regards to Tony's latest superhero obligations? Spoiler alert - something's gotta give. Get ready for part II which dips into Iron Man 2 + 3 territory (with an 'Avengers' plot cameo on the side) but ends up at a different kind of crossroad...Sort of. Let's see.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously, on 'Agent-Assistant Wayne'... 
> 
> We've left our heroes in Tony's bed, making up instead of breaking up. Just how long will this domestic bliss last? What about Bruce's loyalties with regards to Tony's latest superhero obligations? Spoiler alert - something's gotta give. Get ready for part II which dips into Iron Man 2 + 3 territory (with an 'Avengers' plot cameo on the side) but ends up at a different kind of crossroad... 
> 
> Sort of. Let's see.

"There's been another two incidents over at the border of Pakistan as of last night."  
Nick Fury's voice and stare were less than amused. Bruce Wayne squared his shoulders despite being seated.  
"The ongoing appearance of Stark Industries arsenal in the Middle East is a factor that needs to be dealt with."

For Bruce to be able to stay in-character as Stark's PA, SHIELD had come with several terms and conditions. The agency had imposed certain regulations upon him and subsequently Tony with his new-found Iron Man persona in the open. Bruce had studied those regulations, being the diligent agent he was, but Tony had not; and his ongoing refusal to play along made the ground for his assistant and lover thin ice to tread on.

Right there and then, Bruce's superior officer jabbed a finger at the screen, making the camera jiggle.

“If you can't rein him in, Agent Wayne, there are ways and methods to do so.” 

The Gothamite knew the face of Natasha Romanov, alias Black Widow, who stood in the back of Fury's office listening along; unobtrusive but alert. He knew as soon as they would go and pull him off the case, she was going to step in and take care of things in a very different way. Suppressing a sigh, Wayne rose with a crisp motion, standing at ease despite wearing a set of civilian clothes, and tried for damage control.

“Things are under control, Sir. No need for interferences.”

Tony, however, was not under control at all. Lately, all he did was wearing himself thin by going on mission after mission almost every day or night, and if he stayed in-country, he spent all his time tinkering and improving his latest armor. After yet another failed attempt at getting his genius boyfriend back into the gist of his company's matter, Bruce arrived at the mansion after lunchtime, irritated and worried in equal shares.

At the way he all but yanked the workshop door open, the culprit of his bad mood turned around from his dismantling armor station. “Heyy, such a sight for sore eyes. What's cookin, good lookin'?” The jaunty words betrayed Tony's outward appearance. His undersuit was tattered, revealing the ARC through a jagged gash square across his chest, and his hair was plastered to his forehead from hours spent under the helmet.

“Not your attendance at today's quarterly review meeting, apparently.”

Bruce scowled at him all the way from the door to the platform. “Speaking of which - your negligence in nutrition is unparalleled. Again. We talked about this.” He pointed a threatening finger at the forgotten bags of deli food on the workbench. As soon as Stark was freed from the remains of his suit, he walked over to meet his seething lover. One of Tony's thumbs reached up to give a tender rub to the area between Bruce's eyebrows.

“Don't frown so much, Handsome, it's gonna stick.”

While Bruce let him get away with his ministrations, he kept on frowning. “This is not going to work long-term, Tony, be realistic for once.” Slowly, Tony withdrew his hand. “Are we still talking about the food, or-” Insecurity lurked behind his cocky voice and arched eyebrow. Wayne gave a weary shake of the head. “I'm not going to stand aside and watch you run yourself into the ground any longer.”

To reinforce his statement, he grabbed him by the shoulders. At the contact, Tony basically poured into his steadying touch. Without thinking, Bruce drew him even closer and let him rest against his chest despite the soot, sweat, and grime of the undersuit staining his own pristine shirt.

After a while, his hands started to run gentle circles up and down Tony's back, subsequently feeling for hidden injuries and trying to knead away the tension in those tight muscles until it started to fade away. Eventually, the billionaire drew back with a dreamy yet tired sigh and peeked up into a solemn face. “Agreed. We need a vacation.” His hand came up to cup Bruce's cheek just before Tony nabbed his mouth for a fervent kiss.  
  
“How does Monaco sound?”

+

Nine hours of solid sleep, a hearty meal, and a lengthy shower and shaving session later, Tony was back on track. He entered his vast living room to find Bruce pacing around the big couch, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a fitted black shirt that spoke of a previously interrupted workout in Tony's private gym. “No, that is not correct. Mister Stark is going to be in Monaco as of next week. Please check the bookings again.”

The billionaire leaned against a sideboard with a leering expression, crossed his ankles, and watched how Bruce's muscles rippled under tight fabric when he crossed his arms over his broad chest. Wayne only cast him a brief, unemotional glance and kept on speaking into the slim headset. He then headed over to the panoramic windows behind the couch and brought a pane to life with a wave of a hand.

A split second later, a projection of his email account appeared and Bruce made swiping motions along the glass. “Yes, the Hotel de Paris. Mister Stark requires a suite, not a junior suite. Yes. Yes, I'll wait.” From where Tony had followed him like a mischievous, horny Labrador, he sunk down in front of Wayne to nuzzle into his crotch. Hazel eyes held a distinct warning while Bruce's voice remained sharp as nails on the phone.

Undeterred, Tony pulled down his pants and briefs with a swift tug and took him into his mouth. “The suite, ungh, is sup-supposed to have two bedrooms and a terrace...” Sucking along, Tony hollowed out his cheeks and cast mock-innocent eyes upward just as he heard Bruce swear under his breath, trying hard not to let his compromised state show. “Thanks. I'll be... look-ing forward to your confirmation.”

He all but yanked the headset off and threw it on the couch behind him. “You are... impossible.” It came out faltering and rather breathless. Tony took his mouth away with a wet sound. “You love it.” He gave a few manual strokes, resulting in Bruce dropping against the backrest of the couch. “I'm trying to organize your itinerary and you – fuck – you're...” Mouth back on target, Tony gave a low hum which made Bruce groan out.  
  
At some point, he relented and dug a fist into the thick, dark mane down at his lap.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Hotel de Paris was a luxury retreat right in the heart of the small city-state. While Bruce was downstairs at reception, taking care of all administrative things in what Tony had discovered was fluent French, the billionaire followed a young bellhop up into their suite and tipped him well before exploring his surroundings.

Wayne had insisted on booking a suite with two separate bedrooms, though they were adjacent and could be entered from each side through a sliding door. Once he heard the buzzer of the electric lock at the door, Tony was quick to slip a small parcel onto the coffee table and dropped into the couch, leaning back into the cushions. Bruce entered in his usual brisk stride, eyes glued to the mobile device in his hand.

“You've got a clear schedule for the rest of this afternoon. Tonight's dinner at 7 pm will be with the general manager of the hotel. Tomorrow afternoon you will do a brief photo shoot with the SI Formula One racing team on track, and - what is that?” Putting his arms upon the headrest and his left ankle upon his right knee, Stark pretended to look as puzzled as his assistant upon regarding the maroon gift box.

“Dunno. Open up and we'll see.”  
  
Full of mistrust, Bruce reached for the oblong.

An octagonal watch with a black leather strap gleamed back at him, its anthracite dial reading Bulgari.

In an instant, the Gothamite's face darkened. “Tony, no.” Stark put a finger to his lips and turned his eyes skyward in a mock-thinking gesture before pointing at his lover. “Ah, ah, ah. Tony, yes is what you meant to say. Also: Oh god, Tony, yes, harder, oh fuck, yes! – if my memory of last night serves me right.” With eyes full of scorn, Bruce flipped the little box shut and forcefully slid it back across the glass table.

“I cannot accept this, even if you get off on treating me like your private escort.”

Tony's jaw locked tight at the direction their conversation had just taken. “Oh, come on! The fuck I meant it like that.” At the whining tone in his voice, Wayne's eyes turned brittle. “Your mouth didn't get the memo, apparently.” In a nimble move, Tony uncrossed his legs and leaped off of the couch, arms spread wide. “Why is it that you're picking a fucking fight when I'm trying to do something nice for you?”

“You don't have to buy my affection. I thought you knew better than that.”  
They stood and glared at each other; Tony puffing out his chest and his assistant protecting his behind crossed arms.  
“Oh yeah? Newsflash, Bruce - maybe I ain't better than that! You of all people should know!”

A final, sneering smirk, then he was gone in a whirl of spicy cologne and a flash of mirroring shades he slammed upon his nose. Wayne exhaled within the empty walls as soon as the door to the suite had slammed shut behind him. Going after Tony in his current state was a lost cause, so Bruce unpacked both of their suitcases and got dressed in his workout clothes to vent his frustrations at the hotel's gym.

+

Dinner was a frosty affair, even though Bruce was back on his best personal assistant behavior. Professional as usual, he was the one making polite small talk with the general manager while Tony sat in his tailor-made David August three-piece suit and glowered into a crystal tumbler filled with hard liquor. Bruce's occasional gaze into his direction spoke of disdain upon his attitude and beverage choice.

Wayne nevertheless kept on chatting away in French, and the general manager was polite enough to overlook the billionaire's eccentricities. He even switched to a heavily-accented English in between making amicable conversation. “Gentlemen, you need to discover all of Monaco's beauty during your stay.” Bruce put his cutlery down just as his smile turned provocative. “From what I've seen, the women truly are stunning.”

There was a sharp clank as the crystal tumbler in Tony's hand slammed on the table. “Excusez-moi, mais je suis très fatigué.” [Excuse me, but I am very tired] With that, he strode out of the restaurant before his assistant had time to intervene. Up in his room, he crawled under the sheets, tired and freezing, and blaming the jetlag for his miserable condition. Already half-asleep an hour later, he heard the door open and click shut.

Several minutes later, the covers rustled, and the very warm body of his assistant slipped in. Bruce smelled of fresh, minty toothpaste as he scooted closer until he was spooning him, one arm going around Tony's waist while his mouth nipped at Tony's throat. “You're overdressed.” It was a dark, sensual rasp. “'m cold.” That stopped Bruce's deft motions of peeling Tony's pajama pants off and a palm reached up to feel his forehead instead.  
  
“Are you coming down with something?”  
Tony twisted his head away into the pillow.  
“Nah. Jus' tired.”  
  
Bruce's touches became tender instead of amorous as he made sure the blankets covered all of him.  
“Go to sleep.”  
So Tony did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The watch in question:  
> https://www.bulgari.com/en-gb/products/102855-e.html


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Tony awoke to the far-away sounds of a shower running. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, soaking up the lingering scent of Bruce, and felt his cock twitch in response. Slinging back the covers, Tony then stumbled into the bathroom, used mouthwash, and relieved himself. A tall silhouette was moving behind fogged up glass panels, and Tony left his sleepwear in a heap on the floor.

When he opened the glass door and slipped into the shower cabin, Bruce squinted at him through a thick lather of shampoo and soap. “Good morning.” He stepped back to allow Tony to get under the spray of the rainforest shower head. Stark soaked up the warm water before he pounced, cupping Bruce's privates while leaning in for an indecent, open-mouthed kiss. He was rewarded with an approving moan.

After the first few strokes, Wayne's hands began to wander and explore as well. They pleasured each other until Tony came first, seconds before his lover. Washing the results down the drain, Bruce untangled himself from his octopus-like embrace with a quick peck against a wet temple and left the shower stall. While he toweled off he could not help but snort along at Tony's crooked whistling.

Some minutes later, the water eventually stopped running and a dark head poked around the door. “What?” Bruce's lips curved into an amicable sneer. “Your rendition of Barry White is... interesting.” Tony grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and ignored him as he went on whistling 'My first, my last, my everything'.

The dizzy spell occurred right after toweling himself dry and stepping out of the shower. Much to his luck, Bruce was there to steady him before he could crash headfirst into the marble sink. “Tony-” His voice was laced with concern. Stark waved him off and managed to step halfway dignified into his boxer briefs. “Just a bit hungover and hypoglycemic. Feed me, then I'm good.”

Breakfast already stood waiting in the suite's living room, presented on two opulent serving carts. While Bruce got dressed in chinos and a polo shirt, Tony only threw over one of the fluffy bathrobes. They sat down at a table close to the open patio doors, and Bruce reached out to pour his employer the first cup of coffee. A pleased expression lay on Tony's face when he saw the Bulgari watch around Bruce's slim wrist.

“Looks good on you. Figured.”

Thin lips quirked but refrained from making a comment. As soon as he had put down the fine china coffee pot, Tony's hand was cupping his. “Then again, anything does. Or nothing. Depends.” He gave it a gentle squeeze, coupled with a genuine grin. Bruce returned it, albeit brief, and gently twisted his hand free. “Now eat, you're still looking far too drained.” He grabbed the bread basket and held it out in Tony's direction.

A copy of the latest issue of Le Parisien was shared between them while they devoured croissants, poached eggs, and fresh fruit. While Tony finished his coffee and the paper, Bruce went to wheel the empty serving carts out onto the corridor. Once he returned, Tony positioned himself in front of him. “Now, on to business.” With a flick of his wrist, he undid the belt and dropped the robe in a dramatic gesture.

Wayne's left eyebrow arched in silent judgment, though his eyes remained sharp. Tony put his palms over the solid planes of his broad chest and started pushing him into the direction of the bedroom. Bruce willingly went along and dropped down when the back of his knees had hit the mattress. “Again?” His eyes were twinkling. Tony slid out of his briefs in one fluent motion, revealing more than quite obvious interest.

“Why, is my refractory period too challenging for you, Wayne? And I am supposed to be the older one. Shame, shame.”

Bruce's face remained unaffected, but he swallowed hard two times. “Far from it, but you do seem a little out of breath.” He still obliged in taking off his shirt at Tony's unmistakable gesture. “That's my sexual deprivation needing an outlet. Now stop angsting and sex me up, Mister Wayne.” Tony's tries to take his chinos off in a seductive way got thwarted by yet another dizzy spell that sent him stumbling against the bedpost.

His assistant was quick to sit up straight and reach over to ease him onto the bed. By now, worry was etched deeply all over Wayne's features. “I am going to send for a doctor, this is getting too serious to ignore.” Stark pushed himself up on a shaky elbow. “No! Friendly reminder that this here,” He pointed at his ARC. “Is confidential with capital C. I might just be a little burnt-out, nothing to get worked up about.”

Bruce snatched his discarded shirt from the floor and slipped it back on. It earned him an audible booing sound. “Hush now. Stay in bed and get under the covers.” Tony blinked multiple times against a lingering dizziness and tried for a suave expression. “Yeah, that was kinda the point. Strip and join me.” The Gothamite shook his head and finger-combed his hair back. “You need to sleep.” With a leer, Tony reached for his crotch.

“With you, yes.”  
Bruce took a step back.  
“Alone.”

His tone left no room to argue. Tony dropped back on the mattress with a resigning huff.

“What about the plan to fuck like jackrabbits on our vacation?”

“You need to get better first.”

“We've only got two more days.”

“Stay. In. Bed.”

“Aren't you commanding, Mister Wayne.”

“It's in my job description, Mister Stark.”

“I'll double-check on that.”

“After your nap.”

+

At some point, Tony woke from a deep slumber he did not remember to fall into. A glimpse at the alarm clock revealed it was already close to 3 pm, and there was no sign of Bruce anywhere around the suite. Bleary-eyed, Tony shuffled onto his private terrace, keen on at least working on a little tan without any bothersome tan lines. Down below, the hotel's large public patio was filled with people, chatter, and the clinking of tableware.

At a familiar-sounding voice, however, he perked up and leaned over the balustrade.

“Mais oui, j'ai appris à jouer à l'université.” [Why, yes, I've learned to play at university]

Bruce Wayne, dressed in an all-white ensemble of shorts, sneakers, and polo shirt, sat at a table framed by two beautiful, young women, enjoying a fizzy drink. They, too, were dressed like they just stepped out of a high-fashion shoot, wearing short white tennis skirts and sweatbands. “Tu devrais devenir membre du Monte-Carlo Country Club, Bruce.” [You must become a member of the Monte-Carlo Country Club, Bruce]

The brunette put down her glass just as her blonde friend cooed along. Tony gritted his teeth at the seductive drawl she pronounced his name with, and the way she patted his bare thigh with a manicured hand. The Gothamite gave a lazy simper and twirled the hilt of the racquet propped up against his chair. “J'y penserai.” [I'll think about it] Blood boiling, Tony drew back and stormed inside, tanning plans forgotten.

In no time, he had gotten dressed and stormed down into the foyer to hail a cab.

“The racetrack. Hurry up.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ten minutes later, he was inside the bustling area of his company's pit box. The chief manager hurried towards him with a panicked expression. “Mister Stark, this is a bit unexp-” A brusque wave of a hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist just cause I'm early.” Lips curling in simmering anger, Tony stared at the sleek white-blue Stark Industries Formula One racer that was currently being refueled and serviced.

Behind his shades, he squinted over at the designated driver who was roughly around his height. “You fellas got a racing suit I can borrow?” People scurried about until he was presented with a bright blue fire suit that had a white STARK logo blazed square across its chest. After wriggling into the tight material, Tony strutted out onto the track again. By now, the manager seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Ignoring him, Stark then pointed at the car. “Get her ready, I wanna have a go at this myself.”

“Pardon me, Sir, that's not what Mister Wayne said regarding the photo shoot. There were supposed to be-” Tony held up a hand, ennui and boredom written square all over his face. “I don't give a flying fuck what Mister Wayne said. I pay for your Grand Prix shenanigans, so I get to drive my own car when I fucking please.”

+

When Bruce entered their suite, his first steps led him right into Tony's bedroom. After cracking the door open as quiet as possible, he pushed it wide open upon discovering the empty, ruffled bedside. “Tony?” No answer. Pulse speeding up in seconds, Bruce pulled out his mobile which displayed no missed calls or unread messages. He speed-dialed his employer, only to get the mailbox.

A call at reception revealed Tony's whereabouts, and Bruce went into hot pursuit, uncaring about his current attire.

His cab reached the track ten minutes later and he stopped the next best mechanic in his tracks.  
  
“Where is he?”  
His question was a sinister growl.  
“Who?”

“Tony Stark.”  
The young engineer adjusted his baseball hat.  
"Oh, him. He's out there.”

“ _Where?”_  
A thumb pointed at the racetrack.  
“There.”

Just then, a race car zipped past them through a narrow turn of Monaco's streets with a ferocious scream of velocity. Bruce's eyes widened, only to turn to menacing slits seconds later. “You let him get behind the wheel?” The mechanic, several inches shorter and of the skinny kind, visibly shrunk two inches in front of him. “Mister Stark insisted on a pre-race run...” Nostrils flaring, Bruce swung around, heading for the pit box.

“Get me a pair of headphones and put me through to him!”

Less than a minute later, Bruce paced along the confines of the racing team's stall, ignoring the smell of gasoline as well as the curious looks from the personnel around him. Once the connection had loaded with a crackle, he all but yelled into the microphone. “What the heck do you think you're doing?”

“You gotta talk, Monsieur Pussywhipped.”  
Despite the loud whine of the engine, the sarcasm in Tony's voice was audible. Bruce's hands clenched tight around the metal rod railing.  
“Your actions are bordering on infantile. Get out of the car and talk to me.”

“Ah, but you're so much more fluent in _Frenching_ than me, no?”

“If you think I'll stoop to your low level of spitefulness, you're very much mistaken.”

“Looks like I've also been very much mistaken about things regarding you'n me.”

“Get out of the damn car now, Tony, I am serious.”

“Try and make me.”

Just then the race car passed by the pit box again. To rile Bruce up further, Tony put his foot down and increased the speed. He made the mistake of going into the upcoming chicane a little to fast and tried to swerve. It resulted in the front wings to graze a chunk of concrete. At a speed of 117 mph, momentum sent the car into an uncontrollable spin around its axis before it came to a crashing stop in a stacked tires barrier.

Over at the pit box, Bruce cursed out and ripped the headphones off. He was gone sprinting across the track before he even heard what the chief manager yelled after him. Once he reached the smoldering wreck, Tony was already moving and trying to get out of the mangled seat. Bruce lunged inside, grabbed him under his armpits, and dragged him a few feet away into safety. “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!”

Red-faced and unhinged for once, the Gothamite all but yelled at him, sending spit raining down on the still closed visor. Sirens were already whining out loud in the distance. Tony removed the helmet, blinking bleary eyes around, revealing a red rivulet running from his forehead down his face. Seeing him bleed made Bruce's field training kick in. “Don't move, maybe you have a concussion. An ambulance is coming in.”

Wayne shifted in his crouched position, bare knees scraping on hot asphalt, and put a hand under Tony's head and two fingers on the side of his neck. His pristine white tennis outfit was already stained with dirt. Stark remained in a supine position but cast a dark glare over at the remains of his burnt-out racer. “Some schlock jockey put this together – a race car carrying my name should never fold into a pretzel like that.”

Bruce's eyes darted from his crumpled form over to where an ambulance was winding through the narrow streets. “A race car that should have never carried you in the first place.” The medics arrived just then, and Bruce had to step aside as they helped Stark on a gurney and examined him inside the vehicle right on track. After ten minutes of Wayne's anxious pacing outside, one of the medics eventually stepped out.

Bruce tried to glimpse past him into the ambulance.  
“Comment va-t-il?” [How is he?]  
The medic slipped off his gloves.  
  
“Monsieur Stark a besoin de points de suture.” [Mister Stark needs stitches]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have forgotten about the jolly cringefest that was IM2, here's the scene that inspired this chapter  
> https://youtu.be/xeyMIeig1S8?t=72
> 
> I seriously have no idea how anyone manages this track without turning into a high-speed pinball. Real life mad driving skills as seen here used as inspo for Tony's lone track testing/riling Bruce up:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbYMoKxif6I


	5. Chapter 5

At the Princess Grace Hospital, Bruce stayed by Tony's side to make sure no one made him take off the shirt under his racing suit.

They ran a few tests, and once he returned from the final talk with the doctor, Tony sported a thin line of stitches on his forehead. He put up a crooked grin. “At least I managed to avoid whiplash.” With gritted teeth, Bruce rose from the plastic seat in the waiting area. “Is almost dying a goddamn joke to you?” There was a contentious tone to his question. Stark gave an airy shrug. "One heck of a way to kick the bucket.”

A hand gripped his upper arm and stopped his steps. Bruce loomed up in front of him, eyes ablaze with fury. “If you ever do shit like that again, I'll resign. From everything. Keep that in mind.” With that, the Gothamite released him and balled his fists. Wordless, he swung around and stormed down the corridor, thunder in his stride. A vicious push to the swinging doors which complained with a rattle, then Bruce Wayne was gone.

Tony stared after his broad silhouette, rooted to the spot. His fingers reached for the cover patch above his suture before he gave a sigh and started walking towards the exit as well. Outside, the sun still shone brightly even if it was already starting to set, and Stark squinted against the change in luminance. His shades had been lost at some point, and he could feel the sweat pooling underneath the grimy racing suit.

Bruce was nowhere in sight, but then a black Mercedes Benz with a taxi sign on the roof pulled up on the curb. The passenger window slid down and revealed his assistant's terse countenance. “Get in.” Before Tony was able to form a reply, Bruce let the window slide shut again. Mouth twisted with growing annoyance, Stark dropped onto the backseat of the air-conditioned cab and sulked along to no one in particular.

Wayne gave the driver the address, and fifteen minutes later, they were back in their suite. The doctor had advised Stark to take things easy and stay in Monaco for 12 more hours until he was cleared to fly home. A distant and reticent Gothamite began to pack their suitcases and took care of all things administrative and organizational to ensure they would be getting back to the States a day earlier than planned. 

Tony could have ordered him to stop, could have forced his PA to stay in Monaco with him for one more day, but he did not. The mood was ruined, and when Bruce retired for the night, he did so in the other, hitherto unused bedroom of the suite. A miffed Tony Stark ended up watching French cartoons in his bed behind closed doors, emptying the minibar and leaving Oreos and Pringles crumbs in between expensive sheets.

+

Once they were aboard the chartered private jet the next day around 10 am, Tony struggled to stay awake. His ruminations had kept him awake for the rest of the night, coupled with the fact that he had hoped Bruce would cave in and join him after all. From the glimpses Tony stole his way, he could see that Wayne, too, was sporting dark bags under his eyes but was keeping a polite, almost detached, professional distance.

When the 'Fasten seat belts' sign stopped blinking at 43,000 feet, Tony tried for a different tactic: Evoking compassion. “I need to lay down.” Bruce's eyes, small behind their glasses, assessed the way his shaky hands fumbled with the belt. Wordless, he got up and lent a helping hand, and Stark made sure to lean on him in the confines of the aircraft. His sore- and drowsiness was not even faked; he was feeling the crash in his bones.

After he had sat down on the edge of the queen-sized mattress in the private aft stateroom, Tony dropped backward with a soft groan, arms spread left and right of his body. He registered how Bruce hunkered down to take his sneakers off and opened tired eyes as soon as his sock-clad feet touched the floor. “Hurts.” His monosyllabic grunt made Wayne rise to his feet and loom over him. “Where?” It sounded gruff.

Tony put a floppy hand atop his ARC to which concern replaced his assistant's ever-present scowl. “I am going to tell the pilots to turn around. We will have you readmitted to the hospital for a complete CT scan.” With a coy smile, Tony's hand lifted to cup Bruce's cheek and ignored the way his eyes narrowed. “No, I just need this.” Wayne could have pulled back but leaned into the kiss as Tony rose to meet him halfway.

“Come to bed. For sleeping. Next to me.”

It was as close to an apology as Tony Stark was able to give one.

Bruce drew back to lock the cabin door. He slipped out of his shoes, dress shirt and pants, and got under the covers. When Tony, too, was wearing nothing but briefs and t-shirt, they twisted and turned until Bruce was spooning him. Eyelids heavy, Tony snuggled closer against his warm and solid body and felt him refasten his hold around his waist in return. He could hear and feel Bruce taking several deep breaths into his neck.

“Goddamn crazy man.”  
It came out muffled, and Tony had to smile.  
“Wouldn't want me any other way.”  
  
Wayne pressed a kiss against the soft skin of his neck.  
  
“That's where you're wrong.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Happy Hogan was there to pick them up at the airfield upon their return. He took the news about the crash and the resulting injury of his employer as sour as expected. Being left at home in favor of Bruce Wayne accompanying Tony had been the final straw, and the chauffeur was even warier of the Gothamite. Ever since their brawl, Happy's male ego had taken such an enormous hit that he had flat-out steered clear of Wayne.

Seeing him at back Stark's side, not even bothering to hide their amorous relationship any longer, both concerned and irritated Hogan. To mollify his long-time friend and colleague, Tony let Happy drive him to a surgeon's office in downtown LA three days later. Much to Stark's luck, all that was left from his car crash once the stitches were removed was a near invisible red line close to his temple.

When they returned to the mansion, slurping on the Frappuccinos Tony had bought on the occasion of his unblemished appearance, Jarvis had a message. “Mister Wayne has received orders to leave his present assignment as of tonight. He is currently packing.” Waving his chauffeur off, Tony hurried his steps. He found Bruce up in his room, dressed in an all-black ensemble and rummaging through an equally black bag.

Tony shoved his palms flat into the back pockets of his jeans. “So.” At that, Wayne looked up at him before he focused back on the duffel on the bed. “Any complications?” Stark sauntered closer, jaw set at a rebellious angle. “With you doing the secret agent spiel all of a sudden? Yeah, kinda.” A grave look. “I meant at the surgeon's.” Tony adopted a casual stance with one shoulder against the bathroom's sliding door.

“No. Are you going to leave the country?”

Without looking at him Wayne went through the motions of checking a Smith & Wesson M&P. “Most likely, yes.” The billionaire's eyes took in his every move, narrowing when Bruce slipped two extra magazines into a side department of the bag. “Let me come along.” The gun made a soft click as Bruce secured it. “No.” Tony gave a very visible roll of his eyes and crossed his arms. “Then let me pick you up when you get back.”  
  
The handgun disappeared within the sleek shoulder holster on Bruce's left.  
  
“Not possible.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know when that is going to be.”

Stewing to himself for a few heartbeats Tony pursed his lips. “But you'll be back for my birthday next week?” A pained notion crossed Bruce's features as he zipped the bag shut and straightened to his full height. “I - cannot promise that.” Stark pushed himself off the door frame and spread his arms in one fluent motion. “Then don't go. I need my assistant, I've got a party to organize. Plus, I hate it if the bad guys shoot at you.”

“Pot-kettle situation?”

“Oh, fuck you.”  
At that, Wayne gave a cunning smirk.  
“I sure hope so upon my return.”

With a dark growl, Stark lunged for him, grabbed the front of his sleek black tactical suit, and encountered no resistance. “Fuckin smartass. I'll be jerking off to the image of you in this getup later on.” Their kiss was hard and bruising. When it ended, Wayne's tongue flickered into the corner of his mouth to lick off the metallic taste of blood. “Good.” His voice held a pleased undertone. Tony huffed out loud enough for him to hear.

“I'm not sending you dick pics though. Shoo.”

+

As soon as Bruce had left the premises, Tony indeed palmed himself for a few moments, but the result was more than unsatisfying. He thus grabbed a pair of jersey shorts and an old MIT shirt from his closet and connected his phone with a pair of wireless earplugs.

“Jarvis, I'm going for a run on the beach.”

The first mile was smooth and easy, and Tony relinquished the feel and smell of the beach. Around mile two, his steps turned sluggish and he felt something was very off, including his equilibrium. It made him drop to his knees and Tony managed to turn sideways just in time before he vomited into a small sand pit. Eyes watering behind closed lids, he emptied his stomach until nothing but dry heaving came up.

Guts twisting, Tony gasped for breath and wiped a sleeve over his mouth. His legs felt like jelly and he craned his neck to look over to where his mansion loomed up in the distance, close but still too far away. He buried the remains of his sickness underneath a pile of sand before he laid on his back, stared up into the cloudless sky, and forced his heartbeat under control, counting seagulls that circled high above.

Once he trusted his legs to cooperate again, he dragged himself to his feet and staggered back home. After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, Tony grabbed a bottle of soda and trudged down into the workshop. “What's wrong with me, J? Ever since Monaco, I get those dizzy spells like I've been hit by a truck. And out there, I had just to look at my breakfast again. That was all kinds of gross.”

He guzzled down half of the soda while his AI ran a few scans. Two minutes later, Jarvis presented him with a diagnosis. “It appears that your blood toxicity is at 39 percent and counting.” Freezing in mid-air, Tony lowered the soda bottle. “The fuck is going on?” A vividly animated holographic of his sternum appeared on-screen. “The cause is the Palladium inside the reactor. Your body is unable to fight off the symptoms.”  
  
Tony stared at the red-tinged reactor core schematic that was throbbing amid his ribcage.  
  
“Meaning... what?”

“It looks like the device that is keeping you alive is slowly poisoning you.”  
  
For a while, only Tony's heavy breathing filled the air. Eventually, he sunk down onto the nearest chair and rubbed down his face.  
  
“Can we fix it?”

“I am sorry, Sir, but desirable outcomes of the present situation are currently unavailable.”

Tony stared long and hard at the readouts on the screen. Eventually, he took another deep breath and exhaled with a long, shuddering gust of air. “Not a word to Bruce or anyone else for now. Confinement protocol 00A1 on everything that has happened here from the past half an hour.”

“Understood, Sir.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Without the constant supervision of his assistant, Tony skipped most office hours and deadlines.

He holed up in his workshop, trying combination after combination of periodic elements to find a cure. Two days before his birthday bash, Bruce contacted him to tell him he was going to be back for his party. Tony should have been glad; instead, he felt only anxiety. Much to his luck, their conversation was brief and left Bruce no clues about the rapidly deteriorating health issues Tony tried to hide.

By now the palladium was making him sluggish, dizzy, and constantly feeling like he was on the verge of being sick. When the night of his big party rolled around, Tony put on an expensive combo of vest, dress pants, and designer sneakers; hair and goatee trimmed and styled to perfection. He doused himself in fragrance to cover up the underlying odor of ozone and had two dirty martinis way before the first guests arrived.

+

Bruce Wayne sat in the backseat of a cab and drummed two fingers against the gift-wrapped parcel in his lap. He had arrived in the US six hours ago from where he had been to London for a strategic meeting with the MI6, leaving only time for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading out to Malibu. Dressed in black slacks and a black button-down, the Gothamite eyed the square box in his hands again.

Finding a gift for the genius billionaire was a task bordering on the impossible, but Bruce figured his present at least had a real purpose and a special meaning. His gaze flew out towards the windshield as the cab entered Cliffside Drive. Even from far away, Stark Mansion was the pinnacle of partying in Malibu that night. Big, colorful flashlights in bright red, white, and blue illuminated the skies and the house in turns.

Loud bass-laden music boomed through the air, only to increase in volume as soon as Bruce let himself in. The house was packed with starlets in glitzy dresses and high heels, and guys in fancy wardrobe. James Rhodes, wearing a green polo shirt and a sour expression, soon manifested by Bruce's side. “Good thing you're here. This is getting out of hand way too fast.” To prove a point, he pointed at the living room.

There, Tony Stark stood high atop his expensive coffee table. The collar of his shirt was popped, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he wore a pair of blue-tinted designer glasses. Immersed in a series of body waves and hip thrusts that looked downright scandalous and indecent, Tony also was surrounded by a flock of women. Wayne fought down a huge, suffering sigh and put his present aside on a nearby sideboard.

“I'll speak to him.”

By now, the music had switched to a nineties' remix, and when Bruce came to stand at the foot of the table, glancing upward, Tony finally noticed him. A covetous grin appeared on his face and he started to mouth the lyrics along, pointing from his assistant to himself all the while doing gyrating motions. "Oh, I don't know, what can I do? What else can I say, it's up to you. I know we're one, just me and you - I can't go on..."

Undeterred, Wayne reached up past the dancing females and grabbed a handful of his employer's pants' leg to get him to come down. Tony went along willingly, seized his chance, and hooked his arms tight around Bruce's waist, pressing up flush against him with a seductive grin. “I want no other, no other lover, this is our life, our time. We are together - I need you forever... is it love?” His pupils were dark and dilated.  
  
Two strong palms then put an end to his still swaying, still grinding hips. “On a scale of one to ten, how wasted are you?” Wayne's voice was modulated although there was a subtle hint of annoyance in it. He tried to take a step back but Tony stumbled forward and against him with a snigger, brushing a palm over his clothed abs. “Enough to tell you I wanna blow you right here 'n now.” He bit his bottom lip in a seductive manner.

“Damn, you're even hotter than I remembered. Huh. Kiss'me.”

Face expressionless, Bruce scanned the bustling crowd. “Some water will do. And stop groping my-” Exasperated, he bracketed two wandering hands in between his own. “Give me a minute and wait here. Can you do that? For me?” Uncaring about his trapped hands, Tony let his body droop against Bruce's and nuzzled into the hollow of his neck. “Mhm. Anythin' for you, Sexy. Maan, I'd do anythin for you, d'you know that? Huh? Do ya?”

Again, Bruce glimpsed around for eventual eavesdroppers. He knew how people most likely suspected them to have an affair by now, but the Gothamite had always remained adamant about keeping face and a professional distance in public. “How about you staying put and letting me get you a glass of water.” Tony blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and glassy behind their shades, mouth twisting into a warped and diffuse grin.  
  
“Iloveyou.”

Bruce's lips quirked in a pained curve before he freed himself from the clutching grip, turned around, and headed for the makeshift bar. Pushing past a crowd of tipsy women and chatty men, it took some time until Bruce returned with a glass filled with clear liquid. And stopped at the scene unfolding. The crowd had gathered around Tony who had donned his Iron Man suit; preening and showing off in all of its red-golden glory.

Right now he was aiming it at a thrown-up watermelon. Within two seconds, the fruit splashed to pieces, sending pulp flying everywhere and the crowd into ecstasy. “I'm gonna put an end to this super-powered bender.” At the rage in Rhodes' hissed voice, Bruce put a pacifying hand on his arm but was shaken off. “I'm serious, Bruce. This ends now. Get the guests outside!”

Before Wayne could say something, Rhodes disappeared down in the workshop with angry fast strides. The Gothamite suppressed his special forces urges and eyed his intoxicated employer again. Someone had made the mistake of giving Tony a microphone, probably the star-struck, young DJ. Coupled with a bottle of champagne in his other hand, Tony now was rambling along about his liver being promoted to CEO.

“...'cause it works harder than th'rest of me.”

The crowd cheered him on in drunken delight, right before their eyes met. In an instant, Tony pointed the sloshing bottle over at his assistant. “An' there'ss th' man of th' hour, ladies 'n gentlemen – Bruce Wayne, love'f... I mean light'- light'f m'life - Freudian slip, haha. Brucie, c'm up here an' show em what a stud muffin you ar'.” Heads turned into his direction as cooing erupted. Face neutral, the Gothamite gave a shake of the head.

“Aww, alw'ys so polite, Bboy-”

Tony raised the bottle to his lips and took a swig. He swayed a little, lost his balance, and stumbled backward against the newly acquired piano. It gave way with a wooden crunch and Bruce narrowed his eyes. The billionaire turned to inspect the damage, only to shrug it off with a simper.

“'nyways, where was I? Oh yeah, my hunk of an'ssistant an' whattan amazin dude he'is. I shit ya not. Hunka-hunka burnin Bruce, c'mon up here. Preetty pleaaase? Nah? 'kay. One time, we even f...-” Inwardly, Bruce had already steeled himself for whatever juicy details Tony was about to reveal when there was a stern voice hollering over all of their heads from behind.

“I'm only gonna say this once: Get out!”

From his place, Bruce saw Rhodes flipping down the faceplate of the Mark II suit. Despite their overall drunken state, most guests instantly knew to oblige and made a beeline for the nearby patio doors. Bruce ducked back into the corner of a hallway, watching how Rhodes and Stark exchanged a few words before all hell broke loose and the two humanoids erupted in a fight.

Concrete, wood, and glass splinters flew through the air as they demolished the gym, Tony's private quarters upstairs, and last but not least, the designer kitchen. There, Hogan stumbled past Bruce through the rubble raining down from the damaged floor above. “Get the fuck out of here, man!” They were the only civilians inside, seeing all guests were out on the terrace by now, watching the spectacle with gaping mouths.

Just then, Iron Man ripped a huge chunk out of the granite kitchen island block and whacked it upside his friend's head. Rhodes recovered fast and sent his friend head-forward into the oven instead. Flames licked around Tony's armor, and Bruce was about to interfere when both men started raising and pointing glowing repulsor beam palms at each other. With a sense of foreboding, Bruce grabbed the chauffeur by the arm.

“Get all people away from the terrace. Now!”

Wayne managed to push Hogan out of the kitchen just in time before a high-pitched repulsor whine filled his ears. He dove behind the remains of the massive island counter, flattening himself against the floor when an ear-deafening explosion rocked the mansion and everything erupted in a huge blaze of white.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics Tony uses are courtesy of Haddaway and belong to his song 'What Is Love' (1993)


	8. Chapter 8

Once Tony got back to a state of consciousness, the first thing he felt was still being in the suit. His HUD began to flicker and reboot, and five seconds later, he could take in the surrounding damage. His designer kitchen was blasted to pieces, the ocean air whipping through the gaping hole of the mansion. He was sitting propped up against his burnt-out oven, and Rhodey stood across from him, still in the Mark II.

James then leaned in to pick a body off the ground, and Tony's heart almost stopped and froze. Bruce's clothes were tattered and scorched, his glasses missing, and his hair and face covered in soot. He was moving by himself in Rhodes' grip but pressed a hand against his ribcage with a pain-filled expression. “No...” Tony's miserable exhale could be heard over the whirrs as he flipped the armor's faceplate up.

Both Rhodes and Wayne turned their heads into his direction before the Gothamite steadied himself against the remains of a counter. He waved off further assistance from Rhodes, and the latter flipped the faceplate of the silver suit up to reveal his furious face. He glared at his supposed best friend and pointed at Bruce who was doubling over and catching his breath. “Look what you've done, man. Look what you made us do!”

Numb, Tony Stark scrambled to his knees. “No – Bruce...” When he tried to get to his feet, his equilibrium was not cooperating and left him to drop back to all fours. His eyes remained trained on his lover, but Rhodes stepped into his line of view. “You don't deserve these suits, Tones.” With that, Rhodes straightened up with an electronic whir and flipped the faceplate down before he was gone in a flash of repulsor thrusters.

From where he was crawling on the floor, Tony heard debris crunch and tilted his head. Looming above, the smudged features of Bruce Wayne stared down at the pathetic figure his employer was cutting. “I hope it was worth it.” The words were cold, like his expression, and held a certain finality. Before Bruce could leave him, too, Tony lurched forward and grabbed him by an ankle, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“I'm dying, Bruce.”  
Wayne stared down at him. Through watering eyes, Tony forced himself to hold the other man's scornful gaze.  
“The Palladium is killing me.”

+

After confiding about what was ailing him, Tony had a breakdown of sorts that ended with him puking his guts out into the next best thing he found, which was a dented frying pan that had gone missing its handle after the explosion. When he had calmed down enough after a good ten minutes, he and Bruce were both crouching on the floor amid all the rubble and debris, side by side.

“There is no cure?”

Bruce's voice was low and grave. Tony coughed against the bile reflux down his throat. “I've tried any possible element combination, every permutation, any substitute, but there's none. Not a single, existing one.” Wayne stared into the peaceful darkness outside the wrecked mansion.

"How long?”   
Tony stretched out a gauntleted hand and watched the mechanism respond.  
“Depending on how fast I burn through my resources. Six months, maybe more, maybe less.”  
  
Face grim, Wayne rose to his feet, suppressing a wince.  
“Stop going out on missions. Effective immediately.”  
Dark-brown eyes sluggishly followed his motions.

“I can't, you know there's--”

“Your life is on the line, you damn well can.”  
With that, Bruce held out a hand into his direction.  
“Let's get you out of this thing and get cleaned up.”

Their shower was subdued. Bruce washed Tony's hair and fastened worried eyes upon the dark criss-cross lines spreading all the way from his reactor up to his neck. Stark spat mouthwash down the drain and sniffled. He was quiet and malleable in Bruce's arms, leaning into his touch with fatigue and exhaustion. “D'you know Palladium was named after the Greek goddess of wisdom?” Tony's voice was slurred.

“Don' feel so wise 'nymore, Bruce.” His fingers tightened around Wayne's upper back. “I don' wanna die. Not like this.”

At the distress in his voice, the Gothamite closed his eyes and pressed his face into Tony's wet hair.

“I won't let you die, you hear me? I won't.”

+

As soon as he had put his lover's tired but still restless figure to sleep in one of the intact guestrooms with the help of a mild sedative, Bruce went into his own quarters. There, he grabbed a spare pair of glasses from a drawer before he browsed through his closet and consulted the AI. After listening to Jarvis' meticulous list of anything Tony had hidden from him the past weeks, Bruce released a deep breath.

“Jarvis, I want you to monitor his vitals 24/7. Any grave changes need to result in a direct hospitalization. Also, please organize immediate re-construction measures for the destroyed parts of the mansion. Same construction company like before.” The panel in the wall next to him began to blink. “Gladly, Mister Wayne. Initiating the necessary protocols.” Bruce nodded and fetched his trusted leather jacket and boots from the rack.

“I will be gone for a while. Please tell him when he wakes up. I'll deal with the PR department about tonight's incident.”  
“Is your absence directly connected to Mister Stark's current ailment?”  
Bruce reached for his motorbike helmet on the top shelf, mouth curling with pain and determination.  
  
“Yes.”

Once he was down in the foyer, a lone figure stood in the main doorway, blocking it. “What the heck is going on?” Happy Hogan scowled at him and widened his stance. Wayne's lips thinned just as his brows furrowed. “Look after him, he is sick. I'm trying to find a cure.” He proceeded to walk past the other man when a meaty hand landed on his wrist. Their eyes met, but for once there was no challenging fire in Hogan's gaze.  
  
“Hurry up then.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Tony woke from a deep but dreamless slumber with a feeling of surreality and a heavily-coated tongue in his mouth. The windows were still tinted, and the spot next to him on the bed was cold and empty. “Ngh... B-bruce?” Movement somewhere close to the door erupted, shining a sliver of light into the room. “Nah, it's me, bossman. You wanna drink some water?” With an affirmative groan, Stark shifted into a propped up position.

As soon as he took in his surroundings, he remembered the previous night. Happy Hogan walked up to his bedside, a glass in his hand. Tony reached for it and sipped, even though it was too warm from the chauffeur's grip. “Where's Bruce?” Happy pulled a face. “Said he's going to find a cure to whatever made you sick.” He looked like he had his very own opinion on Wayne's disappearance; one which he would not voice aloud.

After two more sips, Tony put the lukewarm water on the nightstand and tried asking Jarvis for a little light. Once the windows were at 60 percent transparency, he sunk back into the pillows with a groan that was more of an exasperated sigh. “Of all people out there, I gotta get attached to a super-secret stealth agent.” Hogan's already grumpy expression morphed into a facade of confused irritation. “Stealth agent?”

With more energy than he felt, Stark slung back the covers. “Long story, Hap. It's better told over coffee and bagels. Or no, wait - donuts. Yeah, I could really go for donuts right now. Glazed and with sprinkles. Do we have any?” Happy shrugged, leading to Jarvis chiming in. “At present, there are no donuts at the mansion. The next donut shop is twenty miles away. They don't offer delivery service.”

Glad for the opportunity to get out of a potentially emotional conversation, Hogan nodded.

“Glazed and sprinkles. Be back in 45.”

As soon as Tony was alone, he put on a morning robe and slippers and shuffled downstairs to inspect the damage in broad daylight. The throbbing behind his temples eventually eased up at the first cup of coffee Jarvis was kind enough to brew for him from his workshop's still intact espresso machine. Tony meandered back into the living room, sat down at the edge of the gaping hole, and stared out at the ocean.

In between taking sips from his mug, he eventually spoke out loud. “Jarvis, did he leave a note? Bruce I mean?” Without further ado, the AI replayed the audio of Wayne's final commands before he left the mansion. Stark swallowed the feeling of disappointment at not being given a private message but pushed the thought into the back of his mind. “Okay, so what can we do until Agent Tall, Dark, and Brooding returns?”

“Seeing the renovation measures are already in process, I suggest you go and try to keep the symptoms of your ailment at bay until there is a viable cure. If I may suggest liquid chlorophyll blended with other nutrients? This will neutralize toxins in the body and helps to purify the liver.” Tony shuddered at the prospect but nodded around the rim of his coffee cup. “Can't hurt. Hopefully. Let's give it a shot.”

Beeping from the corner erupted. Tony looked over to where Dummy wheeled into his direction, carrying a dented parcel in between his claws. From the looks of it, the package had been salvaged from underneath all the dirt and debris before the cleaning-up crew had arrived. Once the robot was unable to go further due to bigger pieces of rubble in its way, Stark rose to his feet. “Good boy. What'cha got there, hm? Show me.”

Tony gave a gentle pat to Dummy's head and took the parcel from his claw. Inside was a lightweight motorbike helmet designed in the style of his Iron Man armor. It had turned out robust enough to withstand the ruckus. A small white card fell out when Tony tilted the box around.

 _For all your future backseat experiences_ _–_ _B._

Putting the card aside with shaking fingers, Tony twisted the customized helmet around with a pensive expression.

+

The following two days went by without signs of life from Bruce. All by himself, Tony imagined the wildest scenarios which did not help to ease his already troubled mind. His health was constantly being monitored by his AI, he also logged in more sleeping hours than during the past month, and despite the urge to gag whenever he heard Dummy fire up the blender, Tony chugged down smoothie after smoothie.

Then, shortly before the first crew of construction workers was scheduled to arrive, a courier delivery rang him out of his sleep early in the morning. There was no sign of a sender, so Jarvis set out to analyze the parcel before his groggy inventor took it down into his workshop. Pulling a face at the whirring of the blender in the back, Tony dug through layers of filling material until he discovered a vial with a strange concoction.

“Lithium dioxide, Sir. Its molecular structure should help to keep the flaring Palladium symptoms at bay for a period of time.”  
Tony dropped into his swivel chair and eyed the smoothie Dummy put on his desk with barely-hidden disgust.  
“Why didn't we factor this in earlier?”

As expected, Jarvis remained unperturbed by his acerbic question. “Because lithium dioxide is tetravalent while its oxygens are in the superoxide form, Sir. It is definitely not stable in isolation at ambient conditions. Plus, it is also highly addictive and not a long-term solution.” All skeptic, Tony tilted his head. “Fantastic. Now I get to poison my poisoning. I just wonder why Bruce would send this without any kind of...”

Several screens began to flash code red, causing Tony to raise his head. “What's wrong, Jarvis?” A new screen popped up. “I have detected an anomaly outside the perimeter. The courier driver appears to have stopped at the gate. There are two more vans without valid license plates in its direct proximity.” Feeling anxiety creeping up his mind, Tony gulped down a mouthful of his chlorophyll smoothie and got to his feet.

“Video feed.”  
After watching the commotion outside his mansion for a few seconds, Tony's face turned grim.  
“Have a suit ready.”

+

“We have incoming at twelve o'clock, Sir.”

Agent Coulson's voice sounded detached and professional as usual. Nick Fury narrowed his good eye and exited the van to watch the approaching armored suit initiate a casual, yet thunderous landing several feet away from them. “Trespassing's a criminal offense, fellas, even for you Men in Black.” To go with his electronically-enhanced voice, Stark raised a gauntleted hand and revealed a glowing circle inside its palm.

Sadly, his menacing introduction was interrupted by yet another dizzy spell. Fury never so much as batted his eyelid as he watched him trying to steady his steps. “Lithium dioxide is going to kick in after two minutes. You should see to administering it. Soon.” Tony lowered his hand. “Yeah, actually, about that. Did you lock him up or is he a wanted man right now?” Fury's brow twitched. “What are you talking about?”

Iron Man turned his palm upward. “Your renegade agent who tried to steal from the hand that fed him? Cause that's what it is, no? Otherwise, he'd be here instead of you spooking 'round my house.” Instead of an answer, Fury made a small gesture at Coulson who got out of the van. The high-pitched whine of the repulsor filled the air again. “Na-ah-ah. No dirty tricks, fellas. What have you done to Bruce?”

With a bored expression, Fury took a massive, silver suitcase from his employee. “Agent Wayne is currently away on a mission in exchange for your health. His SHIELD status is unchanged.” He walked up to where Tony towered over them and flipped the case around so that its handle was facing Stark. Tony refrained from taking it. “What's in there?” Without ado, Fury let go and watched the armor's fast reflexes catch the case mid-air.  
  
“Your potential cure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's gift:
> 
> https://www.sunstatemotorcycles.com.au/s/road/road-helmets/full-face/17-helmet-ironman-mc-1/


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as Tony had scanned the attache case for any potential threats and had taken it into his mansion, Jarvis informed him all black vans had left the premises. Once he had dismantled, Tony flipped the lid open. Inside were lots of papers; many of them SHIELD documents labeled with his father's signature. A small vial inside a thick metal encasing was in there as well, and Tony held it up against the light.

It held a dark-red fluid but no label whatsoever. Stark skimmed through all records and sketches once before he sorted them into what he figured was the right order. They seemed incomplete, and even if his AI was able to reproduce digital copies of faded writings, Tony was at a loss. “Looks like a... serum of sorts? Jarvis, do we have anything on what this is supposed to be?”

“Indeed, Sir. As a co-founder of SHIELD, Howard Stark worked together with a Doctor Abraham Erskine on Project Rebirth in 1943. Your father had found a way to incorporate Doctor Erskine's Super Soldier Serum into his so-called Vita-Ray chamber.” Tony gave a comical shudder. “Right out of a 40s horror flick.” He put the vial back into its casing with careful fingers. “So. Serum. For super soldiers. That's why we won the war?”

His AI dutifully ignored his biting cynicism. “Not directly. After Doctor Erskine got assassinated the same year, the original serum formula was gone as well. However, a limited amount of blood samples have been taken and persevered, one of them belonging to your father.” Tony eyed the vial with its dark liquid once again. Eventually, he tsked out. “Dead for over twenty years and still has an army of skeletons rattling in the closet.”

His gaze fell on the forgotten syringe on the table and he picked it up. “Now, if that memorabilia feast holds the cure, why should I inject myself with this crap?” His AI piped up. “Finding a cure takes up time during which your health is going to worsen. It would be wise to countermeasure potential shortcomings.” Pointing the syringe against the side of his neck, Tony gritted his teeth as he felt the needle pierce his skin.

Closing his eyes he was quick to push down on the plunger until all of the fluid had entered his bloodstream. The syringe clattered to the floor as he held onto his workbench with both hands, feeling the synthetic concoction instantly enter his bloodstream. “Mon...monitor my vitals, J.”

“Always, Sir. Blood pressure slowly rising, though not into perilous territory.”

“Dunno if I can v-verify that. Ugh. Gah.”

Tony slid onto his seat as he felt his heartbeat flutter and increase.

“You might want to drink some water to counter the current side effect.”

“What... what kinda advice is that?”

“A sensible one, Sir.”

Tony spent the upcoming ten minutes sunken down on his chair, head resting upon crossed arms on his desk, focusing on steady breathing. A bile-like reflux threatened him to throw up, but it lessened after taking several sips from a glass of water Dummy had supplied him with, spilling only minor liquid. Then Jarvis broke the semi-silence. “Your vitals are normalizing and stabilizing. Blood toxicity down to 19 percent.”

Cracking his neck, Tony sat up straight and palmed the side of his throat. The infectious palladium lines he had been able to feel had receded, leaving no palpable traces behind. He coughed a few times and cleared his throat against the feeling of reflux. With a deep breath, Tony then reached for the old blueprints, flattened the rolled-up corners, and fastened them with stray tools from his desk.

“Okay, let's see what this can do.”

+

When Fury contacted him again, he did it through halfway official means. By that time, Tony had already seen to finish the renovations of his wrecked mansion, and Fury was left to wait in the refurbished living room. Stark emerged from his workshop with his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. “Wanted to check if I've morphed into a werewolf or something?” Fury did not even attempt to crack a smile.  
  
“I hope you at least made some sort of progress.”

With a sinister laugh, Tony snapped his fingers and one of the window panes behind Fury began to display a multitude of chemical formulas. “Look at your neat present. Dad's super soldier serum. Or at least the general idea of it. Half of the original formula's missing and doesn't allow me to reproduce it.” The taller man in the black leather coat inspected the formula matrix for a while. Then he turned back around.

“Surely there's more.”

Tony tapped at the glass of his reactor, his expression smug. “Why yes. Found a suitable replacement for palladium by tweaking with Vibranium and Adamantium, but I'm not gonna shout it from the rooftops. This one gets played close to the heart. Figuratively speaking.” Director Fury inspected him for the longest time. “I also wanted to talk to you about the Avengers' Initiative.”

Humming along, Tony clasped his hands behind his back and rose to his toes. “Sounds only fair, since it was my old man who founded your cozy little 'Man From UNCLE' playground.” Stark then stroked his goatee with two fingers. “And as his heir, that kinda makes me your boss, no?” Fury raised his chin. “Don't overestimate your merit, Stark.” All self-complacent grin, Tony clapped his hands and the window turned transparent again.

“Just stating facts. So. Avengers' Initiative. Sounds super hammy by the way. What does that encompass? What's in terrible need to be avenged?”

“I'm putting together a team of people with remarkable abilities.”

Tony made a jackpot-related noise and simultaneously pointed both thumbs at himself. “Color me not uninterested.” Fury gave a noncommittal nod and brushed past him towards the door, the leather of his coat rustling. “I'll send you an invitation for the job interview.” Stark swung around to point at his back. “Oh hey, and send me a tall, dark, and handsome agent with slightly poor eyesight, too, while you're at it!”  
  
As soon as Fury had left the mansion, Tony meandered back downstairs and slipped on a pair of goggles.  
  
“Jarvis? Re-access secured server TSHS-001. Resume running project Ex-Machina, version 1.1.2.”

+

Two sharp knocks on the door of his office made Nick Fury raise his head.  
“Come in.”  
With a crisp turn of the doorknob, the man outside did as he was told.

“Agent Wayne reporting for duty, Sir.”  
Bruce closed the door and stood at attention until his commanding officer motioned at the chairs opposite his desk.  
“Have a seat, Agent.”  
  
Bruce did, though not before sliding over a slim flash drive and waiting for Fury to plug it in.

“Problems?”

“No, Sir. Phase one has been implemented. The target was located in Washington DC and is being traced.”

Fury nodded while he read along on screen. He pressed a few keys before focusing back on his agent. “I have talked to Stark about the Initiative.” From where he had been sitting ramrod-straight, Bruce's shoulders hunched up. He cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Sir, I don't think that is a good idea.”

“That is your bias talking, Agent.”  
  
The Gothamite frowned but swallowed and forced himself to hold the other man's gaze. “Tony Stark is neither a soldier nor does he have proper in-field training. Also, his health status is... complicated.” Fury leaned back in his chair, one hand flat on the tabletop as he fixated the Gothamite with a stern expression. “Despite being a loudmouth, Stark's IQ has allowed him to single-handedly rid himself of the palladium.”

At that bit of information, a flicker of relief entered Bruce's gaze but was gone just as quick. “Still, I'd prefer his involvement to be of a more defensive role.” Instead of an answer, Fury rose from his seat, leaving his opposite no choice but to do the same. “Congratulations on the success of your mission, Agent Wayne. You're free to resume your previous position. Dismissed.”

+  
  
“Bruce!”

Standing in the mansion's foyer late one evening, Wayne put his duffel down and walked over to where Tony had just barreled out of his workshop, taking two stairs at once. Their embrace was strong, almost painful, and for a while they simply stood locked in a crushing hug, breathing into each other. “Jarvis didn't tell me until the very last second.” It came out muffled from where Tony pressed into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Drawing back, Bruce ran his eyes all over Tony's outward appearance. They lingered on the slightly different-looking ARC underneath his AC/DC shirt. “Are you well?” All emphatic, Stark nodded, doing an inspection of his own in return. Upon not finding any visible body harm, he smiled.

“I am now.”

He intertwined their fingers and headed for the first floor, dragging the taller man along.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background info on Howard Stark courtesy of:  
> http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Howard_Stark


	11. Chapter 11

Their reunion was everything from steamy to tender to making sure the other was indeed uninjured from head to toe.

After an hour, Bruce slumped back into the tangled sheets with a sated groan, his body sporting over half a dozen hickeys. Dark locks a rumpled mess, Tony leaned across his lover's heaving chest and licked the corner of his own, reddened mouth. “Thoroughly fucked is a good look on you.” Bruce cracked an eye open to squint up at him with a look full of serenity. “So is thoroughly healthy on you.”

Long fingers then reached up to trace the cool glass of the ARC. Tony's eyes got a certain, glazed-over shine, and whatever lewd remark might have been on his tongue died down in a gentle kiss against Bruce's swollen lips. “How about a little nap before we keep on testing just how healthy I am?” A yawn wormed its way over the Gothamite's face as he nodded and pulled him in to spoon him with a firm grip.

They fell asleep with their legs entangled and fingers entwined across Tony's chest.

+

It was late the next morning when Tony woke up alone in his rumpled bed. Before he could get worked up, Jarvis informed him Bruce was downstairs, attending a video call, so Tony stretched out his pleasant soreness and got up. He strolled down into the kitchen to the sound of his lover's deep, modulated voice. Wayne was sitting at the counter, broad back towards him, so Tony cleared his throat.

Bruce glimpsed over his shoulder, but upon seeing the billionaire in all of his unabashed, naked glory, he did a double take. He was quick to hop off the bar stool, shrug off his cashmere cardigan, and draped it over Tony's bare body, holding the front of the fabric together until Tony had buttoned it from top to bottom. To Wayne's relief, the cardigan did at least cover most of his modesty front and back.

Uncaring about his state of undress and bed-hair, Tony threw the screen a lazy victory sign and shuffled over to raid the coffee pot. The person on the other end gave a wry smirk. “Looks like you've got your hands full, Bruce.” A very small smile flitted over the Gothamite's slightly flushed features. “Guess you can say that, Phil.” Tony's eyes narrowed to slits. “Phil? His name is Agent.”

He put his steaming coffee mug down with a clink, strutted back over to where Bruce had resumed his chair, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and planted a square kiss on his lips. From the corner of his eyes, Tony noticed how Phil Coulson politely averted his gaze, trying hard not to smile. As soon as the half-naked billionaire was busy roaming the fridge, the two agents looked at each other. “Anyway, Bruce, I called to say goodbye.”

Wayne gave a single, sparse nod. “Heading out?” He knew better than to ask for specifics, and his colleague nodded. “Mexico. Good luck for the rest of the project.” Coulson eyed Tony, who craned his head around the fridge door with a brazen expression. “Who needs luck when they've got talent. Certainly not me.” He paused, looking pensive, and pointed at the screen. “Oh hey, before I forget - when's my job interview due?”  
  
Agent Coulson gave a noncommittal smile. “I believe the position of a consultant does not need an interview. Director Fury will get in touch.” Confusion flitted over Tony's features. “Consult- nonono, wait up, pal. I was told I'd be on the Avengers roster. I'm savage and minted as fuck - I'm exactly what you guys need. Nobody said anything about this being an also-ran job.” The agent's eyes flew over to his stone-faced colleague.

“Agent Wayne did.”

In slow motion, Tony let the fridge door swing shut and cast his uninvolved-looking assistant a murderous glare.

“Excuse you?”  
Before Wayne could open his mouth, Agent Coulson cleared his throat and indicated a bow.  
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”

As soon as the call got disconnected, Tony gave an incredulous snort. "Thanks a lot for making me look like a wimp. What the hell, Bruce?” Wayne adjusted his glasses and reached out to turn off the screen showing only static. “This is for your own safety.” Tony brought the massive kitchen counter between them until they were face to face. “You're not my fucking bodyguard, you've got no right to shoot me down!”

Bruce watched him with infuriating stoicism. “Stop putting your life on the line for things that are out of your perception." A malicious snarl curled Tony's lips. “Right, and Imma start with you –us– this thing here, which apparently is so far out of perception that I fucking can't.” That seemed to catch the Gothamite off-guard. “Say what?” Stark slammed his hands on the marble counter and leaned forward with a belligerent look.

“It means you and your supercilious attitude can get back up on that high horse and get lost. Come back when that huge clusterfuck of overbearing attitude on you has died down.” Equally irritated, Bruce got to his feet. Taking up a broad stance he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you sure about your priorities?” Dark-brown eyes glinted back at him. “If you make me choose, yes, they are. I won't stop being Iron Man.”

Wayne pushed out his jaw. “I don't want you on the Avengers' front line. That is a different story.” Tony pushed himself off the counter and jabbed a finger at him. “A story I should have a say in, not you.” Bruce shook his head. “You have no idea what you're dealing with. I know what it's like.” Angered at the patronizing tone in his voice, Tony brushed the unread morning paper off into the sink with a swipe. “You know shit!”

He forced his agitated breathing down and replaced it with a supercilious snarl on his lips. “Bit preposterous, too since I don't see you taking up the ranks of an Avenger anytime soon, Agent, especially without 20/20 vision.” He pronounced the word 'agent' with a deliberately deprecating sneer. Something akin to wounded pride flared up on Bruce's stoical facade. “You'll regret this.” His arms were a solid wall protecting his chest.

Stark mimicked his stance, hands and fingers sunken within the too-long sleeves of Bruce's cardigan.  
  
“Watch me.”

+

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Mister Wayne?”

“How is his status?”

“Still unchanged, Mister Wayne.”

Bruce scowled at the innocent mail of Deborah from Marketing, asking for a time slot with Tony in the upcoming week.

Opposed to leaving the premises like he wanted to, he had gone for his office to see about all the work that had piled up during his absence. Much to his luck, Jarvis had taken care of most things. Tony had locked himself in his workshop right after their argument, blocking all ways and channels to communicate with him. After bringing his inbox up to date, Bruce powered down the laptop.

“Did he say anything about the upcoming days? I can see you have stripped his calendar of the usual jour fixes.”

“Mister Stark asked me to take care of his travel arrangements for tomorrow.”  
Bruce raised his head, a habitual gesture even though Jarvis was omnipresent.  
“Where is he going?”

“New York, Sir.”  
Pondering the answer, Wayne let his gaze wander out to where the ocean lay.  
“Did he say anything else?”

“Your presence there is not required.”  
As usual, the AI spoke without decipherable emotion in its voice module. Bruce swallowed.  
“Just there?”

“Actually, he said your presence is not required in a general sense, however that may be interpreted.”

Seconds later, Bruce snapped the notebook shut. “Alright. Tell him,” He paused to grab his mobile from the desk and did a final sweeping glance around the office to make sure he had not forgotten anything. “No, don't tell him anything. He knows how to contact me should he ever outgrow that Peter Pan phase.”

“I do detect a cynical notion in that statement, Mister Wayne. May I suggest appealing to Sir's common sense?”  
With a wan smirk, Bruce zipped his leather jacket up until the last visible hickey was gone from view.  
“Can't appeal to something non-existent.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Is he gone?”

“Mister Wayne has left the premises three minutes ago, Sir.”

With a listless nod, Tony went back to the modified schematics of his current 3D schematics of an ARC reactor casing, trying to focus anew. After ten seconds, he dropped the digipen on his desk, scrubbed his face down, and sighed into the hollow of his palms. “Everything ready for tomorrow?” He peeked through his fingers at the screen Jarvis lit up for him, displaying a certain venue right in Midtown Manhattan.

“The property has been obtained for the aforementioned price. Construction companies have already arrived and are currently working on setting up a proper construction site to start gutting the building according to your floor plans.” Stark nodded along, eyes traveling over to where he had chucked Bruce's cardigan into a corner of his couch after slipping into his set of spare workshop clothes.

"Have a jet ready tomorrow. Not before 10 am, though. Oh, and make sure there's a car at the airfield. Something chic."  
Programmed to fulfill his creator's every command without complaint, Jarvis confirmed within the course of five minutes.  
"All done, Sir."

Tony gritted his teeth when his assistant's deep voice resounded inside his head, teasing him about his eccentric ways like Bruce had been wont to do. He chased the memories away as he went into a tinkering binge; designing a total of 30 floors and doing his best at keeping his mind busy until the sun went down and the moon cast slanted rays of light into his workshop. It was then that his AI staged a careful intervention.

"Sir, you have been staring at the same spot for the past two minutes. Convalescence in form of eight hours of sleep is highly recommended."

Blinking a few times, feeling his eyes burn after hours of screen exposure, Tony mumbled something in response and made sure to save all of his progress before washing up at the small lavatory unit. Thinking back to the empty house and bed upstairs, he grabbed a blanket from the sideboard and settled into the couch. Only when everything around him was dark and silent Tony dared to reach for the forgotten piece of clothing.

Burying his nose within the soft fabric, he gritted his teeth at the all-too-familiar scent and closed his eyes.

+

When Tony Stark headed for the east coast the next morning, ready to refurbish a whole skyscraper with ARC-powered technology, he did so with two things in mind: One was to show SHIELD they could bite him times infinity while he went and launched his company into a new era, called Project Greenergy 2K12. The second was to get in touch with someone from his past who might be able to hold a candle to his genius mind.

If Maya did not hold grudges, that was.

+

“Tony Stark. I'll be damned.”  
Said man put on the widest grin possible and spread his arms after closing the door behind him.  
“I certainly hope not. You're looking way too good for that.”

Maya Hansen did not give in to his indicated hug and remained seated at her desk instead, arms folded atop the wooden surface. “What do you want?” Stark clicked his tongue and meandered closer. “Straight to the point, how refreshing – and efficient.” Without asking he slipped a hip upon the edge of her desk. “You see, I have a few plates more to juggle ever since that whole I am Iron Man gig-”

Maya only raised an eyebrow at him to which Tony nodded along. “And while I'm good with biochemistry, it's not really my forte. So, I thought of you.” Their eyes met, causing Tony to give an enticing wiggle of his brows. Maya Hansen leaned back into her chair and tapped a finger against the armrest. “You need my help.” Her voice was flat, except for a bit of satisfaction creeping through.

Tony dipped his chin low, unleashing a full doe-eyed gaze upon her. “Your input, rather. It's a complex formula with gaps. Gaps I need to fill.” Maya was about to open her mouth and tell him what she thought of his incorrigible ways when Tony went and switched on his megawatt smile. “How does dinner at Eleven Madison Park sound? I'll send a car to pick you up at 7.” She cast him a look laced with both indignation and amusement.

“Tonight?”

Stark gave a lackadaisical wave over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Before he left her as abrupt as he had reentered her life, he paused in the doorway, doorknob in hand. “Don't dress too fancy, we're gonna do a science slam afterward.” Once he was gone, leaving only a whiff of expensive-smelling fragrance behind, Maya allowed the groan of frustration to escape her lips.

Their one-night-stand had been over a decade ago, and despite wanting to hold grudges for leaving her hanging in more ways than one, Maya knew she was better than that. Tony Stark lived and loved in the fast lane. Whatever made him come back knocking had to be intriguing.

+

Bruce sat in the dark of his apartment in West Los Angeles, propped up against the headrest of his twin-sized bed. The brightness of the screen mirrored in his lenses as he stared at the images on the notebook in his lap. TMZ's latest headline read 'The Stark Spark Is Back in NY – Iron Man's Hot Night On The Town'. The Gothamite's frown persisted as he scrolled down and clicked on an embedded video link.

The quality was blurry and jarred, but it showed Tony and his female company in front of one of New York’s most exclusive restaurants. Stark was seen getting out of a silver Bentley Continental GT, throwing up victory signs at the paparazzi before he went to open the door for a dark-haired woman who was taller than him. Voices from off-screen started to shout and yell, trying to capture the billionaire's attention.

“Tony! Tony! What are you doing here in New York?”

“Are you going on a date?”

“Mister Stark, over here!”

“Miss, please, what's your name?”

“What about those rumors about you and your assistant, Tony?”

At that, Stark turned towards the flashing lights, his smile too wide and too fake.

“Sorry, fellas, this is private and confidential tonight. And a gentleman never tells.”

The video ended just then, leaving Bruce to a stream of never-ending pictures, grainy and far away, as Tony and the woman were getting seated inside the restaurant, in a quiet corner, close to the windows. Features twisting in the artificial light, Bruce closed the current tab with a vicious jab to the keyboard. He wasted no time drawing up a secure connection, and the SHIELD log-in screen gleamed back at him.

Quick to type in his data, Bruce went into his pending assignment folder, selected the one item on his list, and clicked the 'confirm' button.

+

“You're telling me you never completed your studies in all these years?”

Eleven Madison Park was filled with people and their chatter, laughter, and clinking tableware. Tony thus leaned across the table to make sure to be understood. Maya rolled the stem of the wine glass between thumb and index finger. “Once you left like a true gentleman without so much of a goodbye, I might have had a good night but not the solution to the glitch in my formula.” Tony pouted over the rim of his crystal tumbler.

“Only good? C'mon now.”  
He gave a comical wince as the tip of her boot found his shin under the table.  
“Still a cocky asshole, I see.”

“I compensate for it with my good looks and money galore.”

Maya rolled her eyes at him, and Tony made an elaborate gesture with his free hand before he clicked his tongue. “Okay now, here's serious: You show me yours, I'll show you mine, and together we'll find a way to revolutionize the biochemistry industry in one night. How's that sound?” She scowled. “I am not falling for that a second time, Tony.” He downed his shot of whiskey with a grim smirk. “No worries, I've learned my lesson."

She snorted. "In what? Not to get hammered in Switzerland?" His smile turned bitter. "Never to mix business and pleasure. It always comes back to bite me in the ass.” Tony then leaned back into the padded bench seat and extended an arm to run his fingers across the black upholstery while his eyes flickered to something outside of the restaurant. Maya watched him for a while before she gave a quiet chortle.

“Did you just sound maudlin?”

He turned his head to find her smirking at him. “Maybe I did. I've changed, believe it or not.” She took her time digesting his answer, only to tilt her head with an examining glint in her eye. “So the great Tony Stark is lovesick. Or heartbroken?” Instead of openly deflecting, Tony signaled the waiter for another drink. “Things are... complicated.” She raised a groomed eyebrow. “Shocking. Does it say so on your Facebook page?”  
  
Her mocking tone was met with a blasé shrug. “My PR team decides what goes on there.” Maya's expression turned resentful. “So that's what all the hullabaloo tonight is for. You're trying to make her jealous.” A flicker of scorn marred Tony's features, replaced with a grateful nod at the waiter who brought his bourbon. “Sure don't. He's not going to notice, least of all care.” He fixated her with an unwavering glare as took a sip.

After several heartbeats, Maya's mouth curved into a soft smile.  
“Alright. Why don't we skip dessert and see about this science slam you promised me?”  
Tony's expression lost some of its hard edges as he reached for his wallet and his keys which Maya took from him.

"And I'll drive."

+

“Good morning, Sir.”

The pilot snapped a crisp salute at him as Bruce stepped onto the tarmac at 2 am, dressed in black tactical gear from head to toe. The final approval for his solo operation had come in only two hours earlier, leaving Bruce just enough time to have a quick meal, grab his packed duffel, and head out. Floodlights illuminated the airfield, and in the near distance, rotating green and white beacon lights could be seen.

Bruce returned the salute with an automatic motion. “Captain.” He also gave a curt greeting at the copilot seated in front before stowing his bag onto the bench seat of the Sikorsky S-76. The pilot looked up from the clipboard. She wore a pair of black coverall with the SHIELD emblem on the upper right arm. A pair of headphones hung around her neck. “Dynamic targeting requires us to drop you off five klicks from the first LZ.”

The Gothamite nodded, used to last-minute changes to undercover missions. Glad for the whining sound of the turbine engine starting up which interrupted any further opportunity for small talk, Bruce grabbed a pair of headphones and slipped them on. He allowed the heavy thrum of the engine and rotor blades to lure him into a brooding silence as the chopper gained ground fast and took off into the dark of the night.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of (mostly) off-screen physical violence in this chapter

Over the course of the upcoming days, Maya provided Tony with valuable input on his father's formula. Despite the easy camaraderie they fell back into, he remained careful not to give her too many details about the serum and its origins. Her Extremis on the other hand, a powerful virus meant to enter the human body and repair its genetic flaws, seemed to share at least identical chemical structures.

However, Maya's biggest challenge circled around finding ways to reduce the volatility of the virus, and while Tony was able to pinpoint the problem, their attempts at stabilizing either formula proved futile. One Friday evening, Maya came by the Tower after work, bringing take-out along. They were sitting in the living room doing genetic code programming when Tony's mobile chimed into the silence.

One look at the caller, then Tony slouched deeper into the couch and put the phone to his ear. “Nick, long time no see. Or hear, rather. Somehow I knew you'd come to grovel at my feet.” A low growl over the line. “Delusions of grandeur again, Stark?” The billionaire flashed his curious guest his best cocky smile and reached out with a sneakered toe to prod at an empty Pad Thai box on the table.

“See, I quite like that about you – your straightforwardness. I'm so used to people sucking up to me, it's borderline ridiculous.”

Fury carried on unperturbed. “How are things on the PA front?” Within an instant, something dark flashed over Tony's features but was gone just as quick. “I actually might have to look into rehiring.” With a pert expression, he then craned his neck to glimpse at the woman to his far left. “Hey, M, hey - any chance you'd be interested in becoming my personal assistant on top of things? I pay exceptionally well.”

She flipped the bird at him without looking and Tony gave an obnoxious, fake laugh before he turned to his phone again. “Good personnel is hard to find. You might know what I mean, or... maybe, on second thought - you don't.” Nick Fury's answer was just as deadpan. “How about I provide you with an update on your current employee? If you can find the time in between your heavy workload.” Tony went silent.

His eyes darted back over to where Maya sat, laptop on her crossed legs, food box and chopsticks in her hands, deeply engrossed in her research. She raised her head to meet his gaze when he snapped his fingers and pointed at himself and a place atop the living room before he left. Once he had entered a soundproof, dark meeting room on the floor above, Tony brandished his phone into the direction of a sleek panel.

A screen came to life and he and Fury had visual, the latter sitting in an office, looking miffed at the foreign device which had logged into SHIELD's secured systems without a problem. “Okay, what's going on?” The SHIELD director's face turned grave. “Agent Wayne has been captured in the line of duty.” Eyes unblinking, Tony forced himself to hold Fury's gaze. When he was certain it was no bad joke, Tony inhaled sharply.

“Bruce is Mr. Tactical Spec Ops personified. He doesn't get captured if he's not posing as my PA.”

He made air quotes around the words 'get captured'. Fury leaned back and crossed his arms. “His target was not a regular human being.” That got Tony to pause, brows curving into a deep furrow. “The fuck you're sending him on a suicide mission in the first place?” For a second, Fury looked on the verge of reprimand. “He has specifically requested this operation.”

“What's it about?”

“That's classified, Stark.”

“If you want my help, I-”

“The only help you could provide is telling me if Agent Wayne has contacted you in the past 48 hours.”

“No. No, he hasn't.”

Tony rubbed his thumb and index finger over his eyes with a strained expression. “Damn, what have you gotten him into?” Nick Fury made no move to answer or correct him. When Tony blinked back up at the screen, the skin around his eyes was red from his vigorous rubbing. “Tell me everything. And I mean everything.” Just when Tony was about to repeat his words, Fury looked at something on his desk.

“We received a video.”

“Show me.”

“You might want to take a seat.”

With a tug of defiance around the mouth, Tony remained standing. Fury paid him no mind and pressed a button which raised an inbuilt screen from his desk. Stark's brazen expression turned apprehensive within seconds when the first thing that appeared on screen was a beaten-up Bruce Wayne. He was shoved on his knees in front of the camera, hands bound in the back; face near unrecognizable from scruff, blood, and bruises.

A male entered the frame, with scraggly hair down to his shoulders and most of his face hidden by a black mask and a pair of dark-tinted goggles. Without warning, he grabbed Wayne by the hair and forced him to face the camera, asking something in a foreign language. Bruce's low, seethed-out answer in the same language was met with a blow to the temple that made him drop to the ground right before the tape cut to static.

Tony was still watching the darkened screen, fingers digging into the leather backrest of a chair. His teeth were clenched and he was breathing hard through flared nostrils. A muscle in his neck twitched as he swallowed. “Jarvis, play the feed again. From 00:18 - translate.” Without ado, his AI did as he was told.

“ _Tell them to give me what I want.”_  
It took a lot but Tony forced himself to look at Bruce's battered countenance.  
_“Go to hell.”_

At the blow to Wayne's head, Tony averted his gaze. Once the video stopped, he dared to look up. “Why the fuck didn't you initiate an extraction?” Fury let the screen disappear within his desktop again without any detectable emotion. “That's not standard protocol. Agent Wayne knows that as well.” Stark head shot up. “Don't you fucking protocol me, Fury. Bruce might already be dead!” Fury negated with a slant of his head.

“The target is trying for intel. A dead agent would be of no use to him, especially not Agent Wayne."  
  
Tony met his gaze.  
“Why, what's he after?”  
Fury's remaining eye narrowed.

“You.”  
Silence.  
“Oh, he can have me, cause I'm going after that freak. I'll find him, and I'm gonna rip him a new one.”

Without waiting for a reply, Tony stormed out of the room, already ordering Jarvis to have a suit ready. Fury watched him leave without a reaction. As soon as Stark was out of his sight, he cut their connection, deleted the source of the network breach, and reached for his commlink.

+

After throwing Maya out with a halfhearted excuse, Tony arrived in the southwestern quadrant of Washington, DC a little more than half an hour later. Iron Man tore through the abandoned warehouse Jarvis had pinpointed as the closest match, heading for the small dot on his HUD that indicated the only thermal activity. “The target appears to have left the location.” Jarvis' calm voice did little to calm down his creator's nerves.

Even though Tony had been eager to get his hands on the mystery man, he was willing to let it slide, seeing Bruce was going to require instant medical attention. He tore off at least three metal doors with both hands, making the material screech as it came off its hinges. Behind the last door, his heat sensors detected their goal, and movement in the corner erupted as soon as Tony barged in; repulsors activated just in case.

Bruce was hanging from a heavy steel pipe at a concrete wall, bound by the wrists with his toes barely touching the ground, head hung low. His face was a bloodied mess; its left side swollen and covered in purplish, dark bruises. The sudden noise made him jerk into semi-awareness, sucking in a breath with a choked gasp. Wayne gave a flinch and tried to shift away from the potentially hurtful intrusion with a pain-filled grunt.

Behind his HUD, Tony's features twisted with agony and rage. “Easy, Bruce.” At the voice and distinctive whirrs of armor, Wayne stopped struggling against his shackles and tried to squint through the eye not swollen completely shut. “T'ny?” The latter swallowed against a tight throat. “Yeah. Heard you could use a lift.” Despite all the blood and grime, Wayne's bruised features cracked into the ghost of a smirk. “Mh.”

Tony was extra gentle as he extricated him from his restraints and lowered him into his arms. Angry red abrasions covered his wrists where the handcuffs had chafed skin, leaving it raw. Bruce bit back a hiss as Tony supported most of his weight but failed to suppress a groan when his bare feet touched the floor. Before he could buckle under the strain, he felt himself lifted off his feet, pressed against the armor's solid chest plate.

“Relax, I'm getting you out of here. Bout time you get to look at my new crib anyhow.”

By the time Iron Man returned to New York and the medical facilities of his Tower, Bruce was out for the count.

 


	14. Chapter 14

When Nick Fury announced his presence two days later, Tony bestowed a thorough search upon the SHIELD director via his security personnel before allowing him access to the Tower's medbay. As soon as Fury stepped out into a sterile white corridor with windows left and right, he spotted Tony Stark standing in front of one of them, a pensive expression on his face and a palm pressed flat against the glass.

“No direct exposure for another 12 hours. Safety measure.”

Both of them watched the motionless figure surrounded by machines for a while. “Turns out it wasn't an accident. My parents.” At Stark's quiet voice, Fury said nothing. Tony still nodded to himself. “I've had Jarvis access the necessary databases. The guy who did this,” he inclined his head towards the person on the other side. “Is the same freak who killed my parents back in the days and made it look like an accident.”

More silence. It prompted Tony to grit his teeth. "You knew that guy's a deranged relict of those shady super soldier serum experiments, didn't you? That's why you sent me the tidbits from my old man beforehand. You'd hoped to get a counteragent or something out of it." The corner of Fury's mouth rose, though it was not with mirth. "That would have been an ideal outcome. One that you, unfortunately, failed to provide."

Within seconds, Stark's countenance derailed. "Oh, fuck you!" His voice echoed off the vast, empty corridor. When the tall man next to him remained unfazed, Tony pressed thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Instead of letting me in on all of this, you let him go - just like that. Did it ever occur to you that Bruce might fail?” Fury took his gaze from the hospital bed and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Agent Wayne is one of my best. Potential biochemical countermeasures or not, he volunteered to go and eliminate the threat as soon as it became certain you were still on the target's hit list. If Agent Wayne had succeeded, it would ultimately have spared you the realization of your parents' deaths. His personal ambitions to completing the mission seemed... highly beneficial.” Numb to the bone, Tony let the info sink in.

"When did all of this come up?"

"Agent Wayne went on the first recon mission right after your out-of-control birthday party."

In an unforeseen bout of anger, Tony slammed a fist against the glass. “Fuck you agents and your hush-hush games. Your hidden agendas have agendas.” Fury's eyebrow arched. Tony bit down on his lip and averted Fury's unwavering glare. “Fuck.” When his eyes traveled back up, they went to his lover's sedated form. Despite the bruises, Bruce's face was lax and almost youthful without its usual, analytical frown.

“He'll make a full recovery, but you can bet your sweet ass I won't let him out of this tower, let alone get back to you nutjobs for a month. At least.”

Leather creaked as Fury unfolded his arms. “I've got far more pressing issues than your domestic bliss at the moment, Stark. Extraterrestrial issues.” Tony's expression spoke of irritation, then bafflement. “Alien trouble? Oh, come on.” The look he received in return made the lopsided grin on his face tamper into a frown. “Do I even want to know?” Nick Fury turned around and headed for the elevator he had traveled up with.

“I'm counting on you to.”

+

A day later, the screens and apparatuses surrounding Bruce's bed indicated increased neuronal activity. Tony pulled a chair close to the bedside and waited for him to return to consciousness. Twenty minutes after the initial signal, he was able to witness the way Bruce's eyelids fluttered and his lips twitched. “Hey... welcome to the Ritz.” Wayne's eyes remained closed, but his bloodless lips quirked again. “Lousy room serv'ce.”

Tony regarded his mangled features with concerned affection. “I'll have them add lobster bisque to your IV.” Wayne made a low, declining noise and blinked his eyes open with difficulty. They were feverish and unseeing when they found their destination. “We... need... t'talk.” Shuffling erupted as Tony leaned in close. “Later, when you're not doped up to your eyeballs anymore.” He pressed a gentle kiss on a too warm forehead. 

“For now, you need to rest and get better.”

+

The first thing Bruce saw when he woke again was not the panoramic hospital room he had woken in before. Instead, he was inside a windowless room, though with no fewer amenities than before. He shifted up to take in his surroundings and was instantly hit by a wave of dizziness. “Good afternoon, Mister Wayne. Please remain recumbent. Your condition is due to a prolonged period of inactivity and extensive injury.”

Grunting at Jarvis' chipper voice module, Wayne took a few shallow breaths. The IV bag was gone, a band-aid in its place. “You will find water and an assortment of appropriate painkillers to your left. Should you be in any bigger pain, there is an emergency button on your right.” Once he had managed to fumble two pills into his mouth and washed them down with sips of water, Bruce eyed the solid walls around him with mistrust.

“Where am I? Where is Tony?”

“A secured basement area of Stark Tower. Mister Stark is currently absent."

"Where is he?"

"Mister Stark lets you know his whereabouts are connected to and in agreement with your other employer.”

Wayne rolled his eyes and frowned even though it fostered his dull headache. “Where. Is. He?” Instead of an immediate answer, Jarvis brought a wall across from the bed to life, transforming it into a big television. Bruce watched him mute the live-stream just before the AI started to explain the chaotic scenes on the screen. “New York City is currently under heavy, extraterrestrial attack. Mister Stark has volunteered to help."

Bound to the bed, Bruce Wayne had no choice but to watch how Tony Stark, who never made it to full-fledged Avenger, went to intercept a governmental nuclear missile and took it high up into the sky. His first reaction was to try and get out of bed, which resulted in an instant red-light alert that triggered another bout of nauseating dizziness. He sunk back into the sheets as Jarvis' factual voice rang through the air again.

"I am afraid it is not possible for you to leave, Sir. The whole sector is hermetically sealed in case of a nuclear fallout. You will find sufficient food and water reserves, as well as a steady oxygen supply, for a minimum of 30 days at your disposal. Depending on the distance to the initial blast, Mister Stark has seen to extend your stay to at least two weeks after the impact." Bruce closed his eyes against a different flash of spiking pain.

“Call - him.”

He waited with gritted teeth as the dial tone echoed through the room until the line got finally picked up. 

“Yeah?”

“Stop what you're doing and turn around. Right now.”

Panted laughter over the line.

“Can't I'm afraid. This is the stuff movies are made of, y'know? Hedonistic billionaire sacrifices himself for mankind.”

“Tony, I-”

“Shut up and listen. I know you never wanted me on the front line, which is adorable and utterly stupid at the same time. Remember when I told you I shouldn't be alive unless t'was for a reason? Yeah, so here's the reason. Even if it's quite an egoistical one. Saving this planet means saving what matters most to me.” Bruce forced his rebelling stomach under control and swallowed hard. “Which is?” What followed was a wheezing sigh.

“You, you goddamn dense oaf!”  
  
Mind still woozy from medication, it took the Gothamite longer than usual to process the words yelled at him. “What good does that do if you end up dead in space?” A chuckle, though it sounded more like Tony was choking for air. “O ye of little faith. B-but okay, I'll bite: I love y-you. There... you... h-ave it. Maybe we-” Abrupt static cut off the rest of his sentence. All of Jarvis' tries to re-establish a connection remained futile.

Bruce was left to stare at the television, his grip on the bedsheets strong enough to rip the fabric.

+

Tony's subconscious urged him to return to his senses in waves, leaving behind morphine-induced dreams of wormholes and deathly silence. The first thing he laid eyes on was a dark figure sitting at a small table on the opposite side of his bed, typing away on some sort of tablet PC. Upon the change of his heart rate coming from a beeping monitor on the side, the figure rose, careful not to scrape the chair across the floors.

Wayne was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and matching pants. His face was clean-shaven but gaunt; the glasses on his nose enhancing the sharpness of his cheekbones. Fading reminders of the torture he had endured still marred his features in form of yellow-greenish bruises on his jaw and forehead. Tony blinked hazy eyes up into Bruce's concerned expression, finding just enough strength to curl his lips. “Eh. Tol' ya.”

It came out far less smug than Tony intended to, but it had the desired effect. Bruce shook his head in a warning movement, lips pressed into a tight line. Then a quiet, seething voice filled the room. “I must be beyond stupid.” Stark offered a weak grin. “Shouldn' that be my line?” For a moment, Wayne looked ready to strangle him. Instead, he turned and stalked off to the far end of the room, fists clenched at his sides.

“How stupid can I be, wanting to marry a reckless asshole like you?!”

At the words exploding from his mouth, Tony blinked twice. “W-what?” Bruce thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “I've had this since the night of your birthday party, but there never was a right moment! And then you go and tell me you love me over the phone seconds before you pull off the most self-sacrificing stunt of flying a nuclear missile into space? What in every goddamn hell is wrong with you?!”

“I blame that on a lack of oxygen and-”

“Shut UP!”

The box flew through the air and landed in Tony's blanket-covered lap. Wayne turned to grip the windowsill tight, struggling for composure. Stark reached for the little velvet box. It took two tries of shaky fingers until he had pried the lid open. Eyes fixated on the content for the longest time, Tony raised his head. A dreamy expression was written over his features, one which was only partly due to painkillers.

“Didn't know you could emote like that. But - yeah.”

Still enraged, Bruce's swung around, eyes drilling into the solemn face of the man in the hospital bed. “What – 'yeah'?” Tony took out the shining piece of jewelry and regarded it with undisguised awe. It had a satin finish and a high polished edge on each side. “That's my answer. Yes.” He gestured with the band from Bruce to himself. “I assume that's the answer you wanted to hear. Also, is this palladium?”

“I... No - platinum.”

“Ah, okay. Palladium's got a negative connotation anyhow. Now put it on me, or else it doesn't count.”

Like a wary animal, the Gothamite came back to the bedside. He stood and stared down at Tony's battered features for the longest time until he took the ring from his trembling hand and slipped it onto his finger. Tony held onto his arm before Bruce could retreat. "Kiss for the groom-to-be?" Wayne's eyes darted within his before he reached out with a cautious index finger to trace a prominent bruise around Tony's right cheekbone.

“Stay with me.”  
His whispered plea was a warm gust of breath on Tony's face, just before their lips met. Once Bruce drew back, Stark nodded, face solemn.  
“You got it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's engagement ring:  
> https://www.doamore.com/mens-rings/satin-finish-polished-edge-band/  
> (yes, he totally bought it upon seeing the ring's name ;))


	15. Chapter 15

Tony never thought he would ever come to relish the day he could refer to somebody as his fiancé, but there he was, letting Jarvis browse thousands of wedding pages on the internet, saving cake pictures to his private servers, and putting together endless music lists for the party after the ceremony. Bruce was less excited on the outside; how he felt on the inside was Tony's best guess, except for when it was just the two of them.

Late at night, caught in the throes of passion, Bruce Wayne would whisper the sweetest confessions during and after their lovemaking. Still, the Gothamite remained the sensible one, refusing an engagement ring himself in favor of waiting for the real thing and going so far to insist on a prenup. It caused some drama once Tony learned of it, however, even more drama arose once the media got wind of their wedding preparations.

Headlines ranked from 'Billionaire To Wed His Assistant' to 'How Aliens Turned Tony Stark Gay', and everything in between.

To Tony, it was all fun and games until other headlines started to dominate the news. Someone called the Mandarin threatened the US and set off bombs in populated public areas. One bomb went off at Edwards Air Force base, the one Rhodey was stationed. Thankfully, there were no casualties, seeing the detonations had gone off in a hanger far away from the main barracks, but Tony suited up and flew over that same day.

Iron Man's arrival caused quite a riot, but as soon as he was given clearance for being a friendly force, Tony made sure to give the stationed soldiers a show by doing a few flyovers. As soon as Tony stood on the vast, dusty terrain of the airfield, control towers looming up behind him, a single figure broke from a small group. James Rhodes, eyes hidden behind a pair of shades, marched into his direction with long strides.

It was the first time since their fallout at the birthday party that they saw each other. James had called after Tony's heroics in New York, but the latter had been medicated at that time, so Bruce had taken it upon himself to assure Rhodes of Tony's overall well-being, despite all circumstances. Now, however, before Tony could open his mouth and deliver a quip of sorts, James reached out and squashed him in a bear hug.

"You crazy reckless asshole. You need to stop that lone gunslinger act once and for all, Tones, I swear."

Tony hid his emotions behind a cocky smirk but hugged back just as hard. Once they had cleared their throats and put some distance between them, Stark wasted no time showing off the ring on his finger. James put his arms akimbo. “Fuck me sideways – didn't see that one coming.” The suave expression on Tony's face turned into one of sincere excitement. “Neither did I, but I'm gonna make a dashing groom, let me tell you.”

He then gave a questioning wiggle of his eyebrows. “So – best man's a given then, no?” Rhodes blinked and gazed down at the ring again. “It is – if this thing between you and Bruce is... the real deal. No ulterior motives or anything?” Tony's smile was lenient but there was a sharp glint in his eyes. “I owe him more than the numbers on my bank account could ever compensate for." Upon Rhodes' wary expression, Stark shrugged.

"And since he actually doesn't give a shit about my money and even less about my fame, wedding's gonna be super low-key. Had to promise him.”  
Rhodes regarded him for a few heartbeats before reaching out and pulling him into yet another tight hug.  
“Stag night's gonna be lit, man, I can definitely promise you that.”

+

Back in California, Bruce was out running errands in downtown LA one afternoon when two bombs exploded at the Grauman's Chinese Theater. It caused hours of closed streets and overall chaos, and while he remained unharmed, Wayne was unable to contact his fiancé due to a temporary power outage which rendered his mobile useless. At the mansion, Tony was torn between suiting up and keeping an eye out on the news.

Once there was the telltale roar of a motorbike outside, he sprinted up the stairs of his workshop and out onto the driveway. With calm movements, Wayne slipped off his helmet and looped it around a handle before he swung his leg over the machine and ran a hand through his hair. Tony all but barreled into him but Bruce took it in stride, just like his kisses which were bordering on frantic, and kept on holding him tight.

"I am fine. I stayed on-site until ambulances and police forces arrived."

Stark sniffed and drew back, giving a meek punch to his solid chest. "Fuckin special agent." Bruce's lips quirked. "It's what I was trained for." They walked inside and the Gothamite briefly excused himself to remove his contact lenses. He had gotten exposed to a hefty amount of black smoke which had irritated his eyes. Once Bruce stepped down into the living room, wearing his glasses and fresh clothes, Tony stood at the bar.

Wayne did not say anything when he poured himself a generous shot of whiskey and downed it in two fast gulps. Stark then held out another tumbler filled with amber into his fiancé's direction, and while Bruce walked over to take it from his fingers, he put the crystal glass aside. He took Tony's face in between both hands instead and kissed him with fervor. "I'll always come home to you. Even if I have to crawl on my knees."

That night, they did not make love and held each other tight instead.

Bruce fell asleep first while Tony kept on lying awake for hours, listening to his fiancé's soft, regular breathing.

+

When Stark woke late the next day, it was to an empty bed.

It led to Tony experiencing a severe panic attack, even if Jarvis reassured him Wayne was merely attending an all-day meeting with PR at Stark Industries. It was a meeting Tony himself had long since forgotten about seeing his presence was not mandatory. However, it was the final straw which made Tony Stark order his AI to convene a spontaneous press conference at his company's premises.

He did 90 on the PCH in his Audi R8 convertible, feeding off the adrenaline. Once he had arrived at the Stark Industries' auditorium on the first floor, Tony stepped up in front of a multitude of cameras and reporters. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of Matsuda shades; his mouth grim after too little sleep filled with nightmares about losing Bruce in a fiery explosion, aliens, and a wormhole sucking him in until he suffocated.

As soon as the riot around him had died down, Tony squared his shoulders. “This here's a little love message to the fella who calls himself the Mandarin. You know who I am, dude, I'm sure of that, but I don't give a shit about who you are - other than the fact that you are toast.” A murmur went through the crowd of journalists. Getting warmed up, Tony then slipped off his shades in the most dramatic fashion and raised his chin.

“Needless to say, you managed to piss me off real good. How about you and I go toe to toe? That is if you're man enough, you limp dick blowhard. I won't even bring my most badass suit to remotely give you a chance before I'll powderize your intestines and ship them home in a can.”

In no time, online headlines all over the country read 'Tony Stark Shocker – Iron Man Threatens Mandarin Live On TV'

+

When Bruce got exposed to the current media hype, it was already close to 3 pm. By now, the culprit of the commotion was sitting in his executive office, idling from left to right in his chair. Wayne entered on quiet soles, as usual, and managed to close the heavy wooden doors with composed movements. Tony cast him a sheepish glance up through thick lashes, watching how Bruce's face betrayed the fire behind his glasses.

“Why am I receiving multiple calls and emails from various sources telling me 'There is growing evidence Mister Stark has gone and publicly endangered his life'? Do enlighten me what exactly happened in the past two hours while I was busy organizing the upcoming press conference for your Greenergy kickoff project.” His voice rose towards the end, a ticked-off edge to it, causing Tony to have enough decency to look contrite.

“Spur of the moment kinda thing. You know me, sweetcheeks. No filter, always need an outlet, yadda yadda yadda.”  
His mumblings made a muscle underneath Bruce's right eye twitch, leading to him narrowing them both to slits.  
“Spur of the moment? You call painting a target on your back a 'spur of the moment' decision?”

At his strident words, Tony laughed out loud. “Oh, please. I am Iron Man, does that ring any bells? Besides, my fiancé's a secret special agent made out of epic BAMF-ness, so cut down on the dramatics.” Said fiancé then slammed down the clipboard in his hand. It made a sharp, plastic noise on Tony's wooden desk. “You have just ridiculed an international-operating terrorist live on TV for heaven's sake!”

Stark jumped to his feet to distribute his growing restlessness. He meandered off towards the bar in the corner, fiddling with heavy crystal decanters and tumblers. “Yup, that's kinda my jam, babe. Sass em 'fore I blast em. Okay, doesn't really rhyme, but - you get the drift.” Wayne's brows furrowed deeper. “There is a thin red line between being sassy and being an irresponsible asshole.” Tony made a laissez-faire gesture.

“One I tend to cross multiple times a day, if you really come to think about it.”

He then focused on the task of pouring himself a small drink which was gone just as quick. Bruce, who had opened his mouth to continue arguing, only worked his jaw and snapped his mouth shut. “Nothing ever makes you stop and think for a second before spelling doom on everything in your vicinity, does it.” It was not a question, but it prompted Tony to swing around and point the empty glass at him.

“When someone -or something- comes into my country and starts messing around, I'll act. I am in possession of the world's best-armored suit system, and I intend on making good use of it to defend our people.” Bruce shook his head. “Which you could have done without aggravating a hitherto unknown, violent organization.” Tony rolled his eyes and simultaneously his arms, describing wide arcs into the sky.

“He named himself after a citrus fruit for fuck's sake, how fucking hard to beat can he be?”

His attempt at humor earned him nothing but yet another, frosty glare. Tony sighed and dropped his chin onto his chest. “Alright, alright - I'll sic Jarvis on him, okay?” The Gothamite's stance remained frigid. “Among other things. Things like staying out of the spotlight from now on, for example. And, while we're at it, the press conference for the Greenergy project-” At that, Tony's head shot up and he pointed right at Bruce's face.

“-is going to take place as planned.”  
  
Just before the stream of protest could make it out of Bruce's throat, Stark took a seat behind his desk.  
“That would be all, Mister Wayne, thank you.”  
Tony's voice was as obstreperous as the glint in his eye before he picked up the headset of his phone.

By a miracle only explained through years of training, Bruce managed to not slam the door behind him.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the 'additional warning tag' to (finally) apply: 
> 
> This chapter features drama and tragedy and will end on a very angsty, sad note. 
> 
> And when I say angsty, I mean ANGSTY.

“Nah. Absolutely not.”

"I don't get why you are so difficult about this."

"Because it cramps my style, Honeybear."

“It will be careless beyond belief to go without additional protective measures.”

“It will shine a negative light on a peaceful event, sends the entirely wrong message, and I'm not doing it.”

Bruce cast exasperated eyes over to where Happy Hogan stood in the opposite corner of the room. “Hogan, tell him he is being unreasonable.”

Before the bodyguard could speak up, Tony, sitting with his sneakered feet propped up on his desk, turned his chair from right to left. “Hapster, what's the current situation on our citrus-y terrorist friend?” Hogan folded his hands in front of his lap. “The Tower is under constant supervision, bossman. There have been no letters or emails with dubious content, nor have there been bombing threats to any Stark Industries facilities.”

Tony slapped the armrests in satisfaction before he looked at his glowering fiancé and pointed at Hogan's bulky form. “See? Head of security just said it himself. We're tight as Fort Knox and twice as badass. Jarvis will scan the outer areas for any incoming threat. If needed, we'll have me in the suit and the whole Tower on lockdown in less than thirty.” Happy nodded which brought him yet another sinister glare from Wayne.

+

The vast auditorium of Stark Tower was filled to the brim with employees, spectators, journalists, and dozens of camera crews. The press conference for the latest Stark Industries Greenergy 2k12 project was one of the most anticipated events of the year, and tickets had even been offered and sold on the black market.

Standing on the side of the stage, security comm wire invisible behind his ear, Bruce Wayne glowered at each and every single person in the room, his fiancé included. Tony Stark, however, did not seem to notice. A flock of reporters clustered around him, vying for his attention, and he basked in their midst. While Bruce scanned each journalist with a wary eye, the bulky silhouette of Happy Hogan manifested itself by his side.

After being ignored by the Gothamite for the longest time, Happy huffed and rapped meaty fingers against the little plastic clip on the breast pocket of his suit. “Where's your badge, Wayne?” Bruce did not bother to grace him with a look. “Why isn't there anyone on the west wing's entrance?” Hogan narrowed his eyes at the stern profile with its clenched jaw. “Don't tell me how to do my job.” That earned him a glacial stare.

“Then do it properly. The west wing entrance should not be left unguarded. Have it secured.”

Happy all but bristled in his face. “I am going to secure it myself, alright?” Wayne touched two fingers to his earpiece and listened to the voice on the other end. Eventually, his cold gaze found Hogan's. “Then you're too far away from the main stage. Go find someone else to take care of it.” The other man's face twisted with undisguised anger. “Wear your fucking badge and stop interfering with my business. Goddamn asshole.”

Happy stormed off, clipping his shoulder in passing. Tony, who had finally managed to rid himself of his media entourage threw his chauffeur a glance as he headed for his stoic fiancé. “What's wrong with you guys?” Wayne's jaw pushed the slightest bit forward. “Hogan is not taking this as seriously as he should.” Tony clacked the piece of gum he was chewing on in between his teeth. “Your paranoia's gonna rub off on him, B. Don't.”  
  
When he got a thoroughly flat look, Stark reached out to entwine the fingers of Bruce's left hand with his. “Honeybunch. Studmuffin. Hey, c'mon now, vibe down, will you? While I'm all for that sexy dark bodyguard spiel, do lighten up a bit. Look, the Tower's monitored and nothing's been found – no Anthrax, no C4, nothing. I am going to donate to the K9 squad and the two of us will get to spend the rest of the day in bed. Naked.”

Even though Wayne did not respond for the longest time, Tony eventually could feel him run a thumb over his knuckles. Bruce gave his fingers a single squeeze and released him. “Go get ready. You still need to get connected to the audio system.” Instead of complying, Tony pulled him into a dark corner backstage and nabbed a long, greedy kiss. “Tell me I look hot.” Bruce's mouth, red from the scratch of Tony's goatee, quirked.

“That amounts to nothing.”

It earned him a rough shove against his broad chest, then Bruce watched his fiancé strut over to where a blonde technician with a flannel shirt was waiting for him with a head-worn directional microphone in her hand. Tony kept on talking to her as he was all set up, seductive smirk on display. A glimpse into Bruce's general direction prompted an arched eyebrow, and Tony to call at him. “See, Janie here thinks I look hot.”

The young woman gave him a look that hovered between amused and pitiful. “All set to go, Mister Stark.” He re-buttoned his jacket and clicked his tongue. “Call me Tony. Janie was it, no? Reminds me of that song. Janie's Got A Gun. Boy, I sure hope not. My PA here's a bit edgy when it comes to firearms today.” Bruce remained impassive until the female technician was out of earshot. “Stop getting a kick out of this.”

Tony did not stop to whistle the tune of the song in question until it was time for him to take the stage.

+

“... and that's how we are the first to be able to deliver sustainable, good, clean energy!”

Applause roared through the hall. Tony Stark was in his element, turning the press conference into a huge entertainment show. He kept on pacing up and down the stage, interacting with reporters either via little microphone drones which would hover in front of the person asking a question or responding to the many incoming questions via social media channels, which kept on popping up on the big screen behind him.

Like his fiancé, Bruce Wayne also kept moving, hidden from spectators, but always in close periphery of Tony's bouncy persona. While he kept on listening to the security chatter in one ear, his eyes remained trained on the bright-lit, semi-circular stage with its shiny, see-through podium. Just then, Stark walked over to stand behind it and take a sip from the glass of water waiting for him there.

As he paused, the overhead lights of the auditorium began to flicker just before they went out milliseconds later. A murmur went through the crowd, half-expecting another trick from the presenting genius billionaire. Tony put the water aside and adjusted his sleek headset. "Looks like we're experiencing a little power outage here - which, I might add, is not on the ARC reactor as you can all clearly see we've still got juice to roll-"

Tony turned to point at the still glowing screen behind him. Uncaring about potential bystanders, Wayne touched the slim frame of his non-descript pair of glasses. In an instant, the lenses flickered and switched to night-vision mode. It did not take him long to spot the slim, cylindrical object pointed at the stage from the endless sea of dark faces in the crowd. Without thinking, Bruce started to break into a sprint.

After that, everything went so fast.

Bruce threw himself at his lover and employer, shielding him just as three muffled pops rang through the silence. His body jerked from the impact and sent him stumbling forward, hands clawing tight into Tony's shoulders. Wide-eyed, Stark stared at the growing splotches on Bruce's torso, staining the white shirt under his jacket. When he looked up, he saw horror and incomprehension mirrored on his fiancé's face.

The moment Bruce’s legs buckled and he stumbled to the floor, dragging Tony along, was when silence gave way to utter chaos. Screams filled the air as security members, including Hogan's sturdy form plowed through the auditorium and its fleeing masses, trying to catch the faceless sniper. However, Tony did not focus on anything apart from twisting out of Bruce's grip to cradle his upper body in his lap.

His frantic hands clawed the sticky red shirt open to inspect the damage. There were two hits; one on the right, below the ribs, the other close to the shoulder. The third projectile had lodged itself into the podium. Soon, Tony's fingers were soaked and slick as he tried to press some of the precious red liquid back into his lover’s body. It continued to run through his fingers undeterred, marring the ring on his finger.  
  
“Fuck no, babe, that’s not how it goes. Please, no. _No!_ ”  
  
Unfocussed, hazel eyes blinked up at him. “C... omes with th' territory.” By now, Bruce’s face held a deathly white pallor, marred by splatters of crimson on his jaw. Tony sobbed out loud and cast tear-filled, unseeing eyes around. “FUCKING HELP! We need an ambulance! HURRY!!” He almost jumped when cold fingers touched his. “M-might n-...” Tony shook his head with such vehemence that tears dripped onto Bruce’s sleeve.

“NO! I’m not letting you go like this, NOT LIKE THIS! We're getting married in less than five weeks!”

A shudder went through Wayne's body but he forced out a strained smile through tight lips. “Dun-no 'f I c-... an make... th't.” Tony took his head in between his hands and huddled close, even though the strong, metallic smell of blood burned in his nostrils. “Shh, don't talk like that. Of course you will. Of course you will - God, I love you, love you so much, I...”

Soon, sirens wailed in the distance.

+

“I called Suzie from PR to take care of the press mob outside. D'you want me to head home and pick up some stuff for you?”

Eyes fixated on the little red lamp atop the OR, Stark shook his head in slow motion. The paramedics had to pry a catatonic Tony off the body in his arms, his suit drenched in Bruce's blood. Nobody had been allowed to take the stained clothes off him as he spent the rest of the day in the ICU waiting area, together with an equally worried Happy Hogan.

The latter had been on the other side of the stage, powerless to reach Tony in time just like Wayne told him he would. Now said man was in critical and Hogan looked like he was berating himself. Happy squirmed and cracked his neck. “I'm, uh... I'm gonna use the restroom. Be right back.” He got a trance-like nod in return. When Hogan's steps faded away, Tony was left to his jumbling thoughts. His eyes fell down to his hands.

They had been scrubbed clean and smelled chemical. The skin around his knuckles was red from the aggressive disinfectant, but there were still flakes of dried red within the crescents of his fingernails. Tony fought back a sudden bout of nausea and dipped his head back against the wall. He must have zoned out for an infinite amount of time because there was a female voice calling out his name.

“Mister Stark? Mister Anthony Stark?”  
  
He flinched but managed to get to his feet even though the ground seemed to reel underneath him.  
“Yes?”  
A slim nurse stood a couple of feet away, carrying a small plastic bag in her hand and a commiserating expression.  
  
“I am very sorry.”

 

End of Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and I am very sorry, too, but things are going to clear up in the third part. It might still be in the works, but it will, eventually, bring the happy ending everyone most likely craves for. Until then, please don't hate me too much and thanks for reading!


End file.
